


and you take me the way i am

by jmcats



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, and two dumb friends who don't know they're in love, canon AU, sort of domestic fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-16
Updated: 2015-01-16
Packaged: 2018-03-07 18:32:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 54,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3178760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jmcats/pseuds/jmcats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>It’s incredibly relaxing, even in this small space, the way they’ve always been.  Such a distraction that he doesn’t think, not for once, about agreeing to lie to his family and Zayn pretending to be his date and how </i>easy<i> all of this might be.</i></p><p>(Liam needs a date to a wedding.  His family loves to match him up with blind dates.  He doesn't want that.  He needs a date... and, well, why not <i>Zayn</i>.  Pretending to be boyfriends for a weekend isn't the <i>worst</i> idea he supposes.  Liam is horribly wrong.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	and you take me the way i am

**Author's Note:**

> Just another silly, thoughtful pretend!boyfriends fic from a [dumb fic](http://jmcats.tumblr.com/post/103442939443/c-okay-but-fake-boyfriends-fic-right) idea I had back in November that I wanted to write for my birthday. It wasn't meant to be over 50K, jeez.
> 
> Thanks [Jazz](http://fakehabitat.tumblr.com) for all the support and the spot-on graphic.
> 
> Note: All of the Payne family members featured are fake. I needed them for this outrageous plot -- the beauty of literary freedoms, right?
> 
> Title from 'the way I am' by Ingrid Michaelson

 

 

 

 

“ _Liam James_ – you haven’t forgotten, have you? You’re always so absentminded when you’re away but – you remember, right?”

Regrettably, he has.

He doesn’t say it out loud and he can almost hear the resigned sigh his mum lets loose from the other side of the phone but –

Liam twists his full bottom lip between his teeth, slumping down on the leather couch until it squeaks loudly beneath him. He drags his spare hand through his thick hair. He knows Lou will fuss at him any moment and he’ll be carted back into the styling chair with muffled cursing and vicious fingers pressing into the nape of his neck.

“No, I mean – ‘course not, mum,” he stammers, pressing his own sigh to the roof of his mouth with the tip of his tongue. “How could I – “

“Because you’re always a bit daft at remembering things, love,” Karen laughs from the other end of the phone. “Didn’t Zayn buy you that calendar one year for Christmas?”

 _Me birthday_ , he thinks and his lips are already halfway quirked before his next exhale. It was some dumb diversionary gift to distract Liam from the massive collection of Thor comic books and a signed copy of the first _Toy Story_ that Zayn really got him.

He hated Zayn for a solid five minutes that day, grinning through it all.

“So you’ll be there then, right?”

Liam turns away from the phone to groan into a loose fist and Harry shoots him a raised eyebrow and curiously curled lips from halfway across the room. He rolls his eyes in response, pinching his lip roughly between his teeth.

They’re in Australia, a world away from home and strong cups of breakfast tea and lazy mornings in bed, in another backstage area for another interview he won’t remember. It’s noisy like it always is when you stuff five lads, a mountain of security and a touring entourage into one room.

He smiles because, even now, they’re still this habitually dysfunctional little family.

 _His_ family, the only ones he’s known outside of Wolverhampton for four years too fast now.

Harry is singing throaty, vocally _disturbing_ renditions of the Mamas and the Papas while Niall laughs his way through a round of FIFA, knocking shoulders with Josh to distract him every three seconds. Louis is scrambling around the room, half-dressed and avoiding Caroline to throw peanut M &M’s at Niall. Zayn has been out of sight for an hour which is something too casually _new_ for him to register yet, but –

His mum sighs a heavy breath that startles him from his daydream of the five of them always being like _this_ – lost in a foreign city but happily navigating the madness together.

“I think I can – “

“Liam,” she whines and he hates the spot of sadness under her tone. “You _promised_ , love. Your sweet cousin Amelia is looking forward to you showing for her wedding.”

Liam cranes his head back, puffing a breath towards the ceiling. “Yeah, right. Sorted.”

“Liam,” Karen says, warningly.

He grins. It’s the same tone she used when he was a child, nodding along to everything she said while daydreaming about being Batman. It’s daft, he knows, but he holds onto little moments like that.

“You’re available, yeah? You said – “

Liam scrunches his nose. He vaguely remembers it, somewhere in the States, celebrating his birthday. Half-drunk on too many shots and his parents visiting and him slurring through a promise to keep his schedule free after the tour. After the _madness_ slowed down –

It never slows down, he thinks. Not since being on a big stage for weeks when he was seventeen, losing a competition but gaining four brothers, recording his very first vocal for _What Makes You Beautiful_.

Everything has been lightspeed and he doesn’t regret a moment. Most of the time, at least.

“I’m sure,” he chews his bottom lip, rubbing calloused fingers over the scruff along his jaw, “I’m quite sure it’s in my scheduler.”

“Your _calendar_ ,” she grins.

Liam rolls his eyes with a small laugh. “That Zayn bought, right.”

They share a breathless giggle, his eyes automatically scrunching at the tease in her voice when she adds, “Quite hopeless, you are Liam. You’re my favorite – don’t tell your sisters – but still hopeless, love.”

He snorts, relaxing into the warm leather of the sofa. His mind drifts a little and he’s so preoccupied listening to his mum prattle on about her new dress and his father’s old tux from the attic that he barely registers the squeak of the leather, the shifting weight until –

“We’re breaking up,” Louis announces, shirtless with manic hair and a bowl of cereals balanced on his knees. He’s got wild eyes (that _earthy_ blue Liam loves) and a spoon pointed at him.

Liam grimaces, reeling back some.

Louis wiggles his eyebrows with a small, apologetic smile as he dips his spoon back into the milk. “I’m leaving you for a much better lad. A blonde, _fit_ lad,” Louis teases, shrugging carelessly. “His name is Miley Cyrus.”

Liam scrunches his eyebrows, squints his eyes. “What are you fucking on about – “

“ _Liam James_ – “

He winces, his nose wrinkling and his shoulders tightening around his neck. He half-turns away from Louis, ignoring the _‘he’s a better singer than you as well, mate’_ that Louis hisses.

“Sorry, mum.”

“Honestly,” she huffs and the clear tone of her annoyance creeps through the fuzzy connection.

“It’s just – it’s _Louis_ ,” he says like an excuse and, well, he’s certain the term _Louis Tomlinson_ means a million awful things in thirty different languages.

Her soft snicker through the phone unsettles the absent nerves he hadn’t realized he was clenching onto.

“ _Oh_ – don’t forget, when you said you’d come, you were bringing a guest,” she hums, a hint of hesitation making her voice waver, “because you were – “

Liam frowns into the collar of his shirt. He stares down at the chaotic mess of ink scrawled over Louis’ forearm, the muscles shifting under tan skin as he eats. He absolutely refuses to think about where his head was _then_ –

They were going to make it work. He was going to try again. Maybe she would’ve agreed. Maybe somewhere between Chicago and Miami and the dozens of shows, the late night phone calls, the time differences he could’ve –

He’s finally recovering. He wakes up without that sour taste of a _breakup_ in his mouth now and he’s comfortable like this.

Alone, but not quite.

(because he’s got his lads, he tells himself all of the time)

“So you have a _plus one_ ,” Karen adds, strangling that solemnness from her tone for him.

Just for him, he thinks, grinning.

“Can’t I – “

She clears her throat and Liam tightens his jaw around the _‘come alone’_ pressed to his tongue.

“Well, your aunts and I,” she starts and Liam’s cheeks dampen with blush immediately.

He bites ruthlessly along his bottom lip with shaking fingers barely cradling the phone. He knows this part. It’s been awhile, at least a year maybe, since his family got together for silly chats about Liam’s _future_ and finding him someone and ‘Operation Find Liam a Date’ is a dumb name Ruth and Nicola came up with in that short lull between Danielle and –

Liam drags his tongue over his lips, chewing the inside of his mouth.

“Mum,” he whispers like a warning but she’s already giggling.

“Oh, stop,” she insists. “Your Aunt Kate knows this lovely girl who’s studying Statistics.”

Liam groans into the palm he’s thrown over his mouth to quiet the argument in his throat.

“And Aunt Lily knows this incredibly beautiful waitress who acts in plays,” she continues, still giggling.

He drops his chin and ignores the finger Louis is poking into his ribs. It’s the sort of distraction that makes him almost miss the _‘and then there’s this sweet, darling girl from your high school who’s been coming ‘round, Liam, I swear you’ll love her’_ she attaches in the background.

“You could invite _Shannon_ – “

“Mum,” Liam whines, groaning when Louis flinches next to him.

“ – I’ve heard from Andy she’s been in town, dear.”

It’s sudden. It’s not thought out, he knows, but he’s so overwhelmed. He’s a bit desperate and the room blurs together from every other backstage place they’ve been huddled in through the years. His cheeks are smeared a lethal pink and Louis is humming the theme to _Skyfall_ next to him and Liam just –

“I have a date. For the wedding. There’s this – I have someone. A date.”

He stammers it out. He tries to attach a fleeting bit of confidence to the last word and he can almost see his mum raising her eyebrows halfway across the globe.

“Is it – “

Liam’s face scrunches instinctively. “Nope. Not at all. Haven’t talked to her.”

“Then?”

He scrambles a little. His heart is thumping nervously behind his ribs, his palms are sweaty, his blood feverish in his veins like cheap whiskey sliding down your throat. He rubs at his knees with sharp teeth gnawing his lip.

Liam has always been a _horrible_ liar, to his mum at least. Except, this time –

“Just tell Amelia I’ll be there, mum,” he huffs, slouching uncomfortably into the leather. He’s trying to coil the stutter in his throat before he speaks. “I’ll be there. Weekend away with the family. A wedding sounds brilliant, alright? And a date. A good date. A proper good date and I’ll be there, okay?”

He hopes it’s enough. He drags the sweat off of his palms and turns far enough from Louis until the blush disappears. His bottom lip is raw, the air in his lungs still uncomfortably hot.

“Alright, love,” Karen agrees, smiles from the other end. “But you sound knackered. Get some rest, love. Tell the boys we said hello, okay?”

Liam nods, exhaling a long breath. She’s still so –

He smiles, whispers, “Love you, mum.”

There’s a sad little smile in her voice when she replies, “Love you too, my little bean. We’ll see you when you come back to England.”

It ends like a quiet roar and Liam sinks into the sticky, hot couch cushions with Louis flicking his shoulder.

“Homesick?”

His nose wrinkles instantly. He glares at the ceiling, sucking in his bottom lip to soothe the ache with his tongue. The room is still a little too noisy but not quite as loud as the _‘you’re a liar you lied to your mum you’re an absolute horrible human being and you’re shit for this’_ that keeps repeating in the back of his mind.

“I don’t have a date,” he mutters.

Louis furrows his eyebrows at him. He tilts his head a little and Niall flops down into his lap, grinning.

“A date f’r what?” he wonders, plucking a few cereals floating near the surface of Louis’ bowl.

“A wedding,” Liam shrugs. He squeezes his eyes shut until everything blurs but the _‘you’re a fucking liar’_ rotating in his brain.

“Ruth’s already getting married? I didn’t even get a proper invite,” Harry complains.

Liam sighs and lets all of the bursts of Technicolor behind his eyelids turn grey.

“No, you knob,” he groans, kicking his feet childishly. “Me cousin. Amelia.”

“The pretty one?” Niall wonders.

“They’re all properly fit in that Payne family,” Louis teases, nudging Liam with a bony elbow. “All but this tosser.”

There’s a _‘fuck off’_ wadding on Liam’s tongue but it dissolves the moment he is unable to fight off the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. Louis Tomlinson is an absolute bastard – and the only person that could make committing murder one look humorous.

Niall chuckles, thumping Louis in the shoulder with a weak punch. “ _So_ ,” he croons, leaning towards Liam, “you need, like, y’need a date for summat like that? Sounds daft, bro.”

Liam blinks his eyes open and catches the sympathetic grin Niall shoots him. He shrugs back, chewing a corner of his lip.

“S’not like – I told me mum I’d have a date for the weekend,” he admits, low and nervous.

“And you don’t have one,” Louis says, scrunching his brow.

“And I don’t have one,” Liam repeats, wincing.

“A bit problematic, aren’t you,” Louis says flatly, pinching Liam’s side.

He squirms away and smacks Louis’ shoulder, frowning.

“You can’t just, like, go alone?” Harry wonders from an armchair.

Liam drops his head some. His heart is still out of rhythm and his skin is damp from the nervous sweat and he’s squeezing his phone too tightly. Louis is watching him with a spoonful of cereal between his lips, Niall furrowing his brow in concentration while looking at him and Liam feels flustered.

There’s a groan rattling in his chest and he just wants to run.

“S’not, like, I mean,” he sighs and he’s an idiot. He should’ve just changed the discussion, chatted up band rehearsals or silly song ideas he and Louis have been working on.

“I _can’t_ , okay? Me family likes to try and find me a date or a proper romance and,” he winces when Louis snorts, when Niall’s lips wrinkle into a pitying smile.

“What’re you, mate – _fifteen_?” Harry teases.

Liam hates all of them. Even Zayn because he’s still not visible and Liam knows he wouldn’t let him suffer alone. Zayn would fight on his behalf, he’s certain.

Louis clears his throat loudly, sitting up straighter while balancing the cereal and Niall in his lap. He sniffs, his chin raised indignantly. “Lads,” he echoes, lifting his spoon into the air like a scepter, “We’re having a band meeting.”

Niall crosses his legs at the ankles. “I thought we banned those?”

Louis shoots a glare at Niall. “Because you were too pissed on Jameson last time.”

“No,” Niall corrects, flicking the end of Louis’ nose, “it was ‘cause Harry kept showin’ up arse-naked.”

Harry tilts his head curiously. “I think it was because the last one is when Louis had a strop about _matchy kits between bandmates_ ,” he grins in a weak imitation of Louis, wriggling his eyebrows at Liam and the flush of pink that burns over Liam’s cheeks is unavoidable, “and he threw a shoe at Zayn.”

“At _Liam_ ,” Louis argues with a raised finger like he’s trying to make a point. “Have you quite finished?”

Harry shrugs noncommittally and they exchange soft smiles that Liam swears they’ve been sharing since the bungalow and after losing out on the competition.

“Zaynie!” Niall shouts, leaning back to smile at the doorway. “We’re havin’ a band meeting.”

It’s distracting how casual but sheepish Zayn looks when he strides into the room. His jumper hangs loose around his wiry frame, the color of expensive wine. His hair is pulled tightly into a ponytail, all of the length hidden by a silly headband, his skin a little flushed. There’s a stubbly shadow around his cheeks and jaw, his wide shoulders slumped.

Liam can almost see the crooked little smile he’s hiding when he gets close, wedging into the small space Liam’s left between him and the arm of the settee.

“I thought those were banned last time Tommo yanked out his dick after having a row with Haz about who’s bigger?” Zayn inquires, tossing an arm around Liam’s tight shoulders.

He’s pressed to Liam’s side, thighs brushing, this casual softness that they unintentionally mastered years ago.

It’s almost unnoticeable to Liam now. They always seem to fit into each other – careless arms around waists, a chin on a shoulder, a hand spread across a belly, fingers along his spine, a thumb brushing quietly behind his ear.

He doesn’t even have to think about it – he’s been in love with it too long to remember how to process any of it.

“Fuck all of you very much,” Louis smirks, bumping fists with Zayn over Liam’s shoulder.

Liam bites his lip and he’s so fascinated by the line of Zayn’s jaw, the softness under his eyes, the natural quirk to his mouth that he almost misses the way Zayn raises his eyebrows at him.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, ducking his head.

Zayn shrugs carelessly, grinning. “Shut up,” he whispers back, nudging Liam’s knee with his own.

(It’s the small touches, the little gestures, the little lilt to their voices like they understand each other better than anyone else that melts a calm into Liam’s bones.)

He relaxes under Zayn’s arm and presses back into him, looking away.

“Our little Leeymo,” Louis announces, wrapping an arm around Niall’s waist to keep him steady, “has a bit of a situation.”

Harry snorts to his left, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You made it sound like the bloke has a proper STI, mate.”

“Or a tiny dick,” Niall barks, cheeks already rosy from his laughter.

“Oi, it’s not tiny at all,” Liam grumbles, sliding a hand into his lap to squeeze at his crotch. “Never had any complaints.”

“Not many visitors to your land down under either, Payno,” Louis shrugs.

Liam scowls and elbows Louis hard, knocking over the almost empty bowl this time. Louis yelps, scrambling to keep the milk from splashing on his bare feet while Niall tips over with laughter.

They’re all complete idiots and, honestly, he loves them for it.

“What s’matta babe?” Zayn wonders, leaning in close, the tip of his nose absently skimming the line of Liam’s neck.

It tickles and he giggles and half-turns, their foreheads nearly knocking. Zayn’s eyes are littered with this shattered gleam, cracked glitter that Liam always finds himself distracted by. He’s always trying to piece together the constellations behind Zayn’s incredibly long eyelashes and –

Liam frowns softly, shrugging. “Told my mum I’d have a date to me cousin’s wedding,” he says, trying not to grimace.

It’s an ineffective tactic with Zayn because – he always seems to know. He’s better at spotting Liam’s nervousness, his uneasiness. Liam wonders, infrequently, if it’s because of all of those nights cuddled into Zayn’s bunk during X Factor. All of those whispered nerves between them about performances and their voices cracking during solos and Liam squeezing Zayn’s hand, swearing that there wasn’t another singer like Zayn in the entire competition.

Zayn squeezes his long fingers on the round of Liam’s shoulder. “And you don’t have one?”

“The asshole does not,” Louis inputs, grinning.

Liam thinks of punching him again. Instead, he tucks his chin and shakes his head.

“Pretty poor of me,” he mutters, biting at his frown.

“It’s not,” Zayn laughs, the noise sweet and comforting.

“It is,” Louis argues.

Niall punches him for Liam and they share small grins like _‘thank you’_ and _‘anytime’_ aren’t words they really need to say anymore. It stopped a long time ago, along with _‘good morning’_ and _‘Harry put that stiffy away’_ after waking up in each other’s hotel beds over the years.

“Just hire a bird for the weekend,” Niall suggests.

Harry leans over, smacks Niall’s good knee, shaking his head. “That’s awful.”

“Didn’t it work in _Pretty Woman_?” Louis wonders.

“ _When_ and _why_ have you watched that film?” Harry asks, smiling affectionately.

Louis rolls his eyes, nudging a toe up Harry’s calf. “Don’t you dare, H. You had me sat through _the Notebook_ and _Love Actually_ for an entire weekend last tour.”

“You loved it,” Harry sneers.

Louis doesn’t argue, hiding half of his embarrassingly bright blush behind Niall’s shoulder.

“Lads, lads,” Niall groans, elbowing Louis back when he bites at Niall’s spine, “Focus. T’is ‘bout Liam, ‘member?”

“Just ask a mate,” Zayn proposes, tipping his head back.

“What about Andy?” Louis offers.

Liam shakes his head briefly. “Can’t do that,” he mutters, brushing his lips into the soft ribs on Zayn’s jumper. “He’s already going. Amelia went to school with us so most of me classmates will be there.”

“Fascinating,” Louis says, mockingly.

Liam flips him off, nudging his chin along Zayn’s shoulder. He smells like cigarettes and clean air and that soft undertone of _Zayn_ Liam’s never tired of all this time.

“Plus my family expects me to be _dating_ the person I am bringing. Or at least fancying my date,” he adds, lips already shifting into a frown.

“You’re right,” Louis hums, tapping his index finger along his chin thoughtfully. “I’d never date Andy. Or snog him.”

It’s Harry who punches Louis this time, in the knee, apologetic fingers rubbing the sore skin when Louis scowls at him.

“Then take one of us,” Niall suggests, loudly, grinning manically when Harry gasps.

“Fuck right off, Horan,” Louis smirks, ruffling Niall’s already mussed hair. “You’re a fucking genius.”

Niall preens under Louis’ touch and Zayn laughs gently into the shell of Liam’s ear.

“What? No. You _can’t_ – wait. You’re taking the piss, right?” Liam stammers.

Louis and Niall lean in simultaneously with narrowed eyes, lips already halfway quirked into challenging grins while Harry cackles hoarsely in the background.

“Are we not good enough for you to fancy, Leeymo?” Louis asks, trying to sound offended.

“Not at all,” Liam teases back.

He’s trying to shake the embarrassment from his voice, attempting to hide the way his cheeks naturally light up with this freckling pink blush but –

He’s not daft. He knows what the world thinks of him. He knows he’s not amazing at defending himself on Twitter or making a point for the sake of an argument. It’s not that he _wouldn’t_ shag a boy. He’s considered the idea, more than once, of dating a bloke. Of being able to walk, hand in hand, down a quiet street in London in the middle of winter with some fit lad smiling at him over a cup of coffee.

If he was anything other than _Liam from One Direction_ , maybe. Just some bloke from Wolverhampton, finishing up his music degree at university, snogging his boyfriend on a foggy morning and no one would give him a second look.

He wouldn’t have to explain anything for once.

But those are passing thoughts. It’s nothing he’s shared with anyone, sober at least. Maybe some dumb laddy conversation he’s had with Louis or possibly Zayn when they were pissed on good beers and slurring through those _‘what would you do if – ‘_ conversations they always have when they’re too bladdered to admit things with a little more clarity.

“So you’re saying you wouldn’t date a dude?” Niall asks, sounding more conversational than accusing.

“I didn’t say I _wouldn’t_ ,” Liam scoffs, blinking down at his knees. “I’ve just never – Haven’t thought of it, for _this_. It’s just.” He gives a one-shouldered shrug because he’s not very artistic with words.

Not when he needs to defend himself, at least.

He refuses to say anymore, momentarily, because he’s not drunk and they usually save these sort of confessionals for late nights on a dark, too quiet tour bus.

“That’s not a _no_ , right?” Louis wonders, trading glances with Niall, then Harry, then Niall again.

“I don’t think so,” Harry spares with a small smile.

“Leave ‘im be, boys,” Zayn grins, tightening his arm around Liam’s taut shoulders, dry lips catching around his cheek. “You don’t have’ta do it, babe.”

“I mean,” Lam chews thoughtfully along his lip, squeezing his hands together. “I could. I _would_ , it’s just.”

He huffs out another weak sigh, lips twitching between a dull smile and a frown.

“Then it’s sorted,” Louis announces before Liam can drag in his next breath, clapping his hands together, a sideways smirk shot right at Liam.

“Who’s gonna be the victim?” Harry wonders. He kicks his feet into Niall’s lap, pulling a bag of crisps out of nowhere.

“Victim?” Zayn inquires with a tilted head.

Louis hums, winking at Harry. “Shall we sort it out in a game of Quidditch or shall we do a _Hunger Games_ – “

“I volunteer as tribute!” Niall shouts, a hand raised high, his lopsided smile cheeky and bright.

Louis pats a condescending hand to Niall’s cheek, shaking his head. “Horrible, horrible idea, Horan.”

“How?”

“It is a pretty poor thought,” Harry agrees, shrugging when Niall tosses his feet off of his lap.

“You don’t date, Ni,” Zayn laughs with a crooked smile. “You pretend to date just to shag.”

Harry nods along, tossing a crisp for Louis to catch with his mouth. They snicker with wrinkled noses when Louis misses.

“Well,” Niall groans, crossing his arms, glaring halfheartedly at all of them, “’s not like we’d really be dating. It’s all pretend. So Leeymo can give me a fake blowjob afterwards.”

“Horrible,” Louis moans, cradling a soft arm around Niall’s midsection. He smacks a rough kiss to Niall’s shoulder.

“A bit gross too,” Harry frowns. “Why can’t you be the giver?”

“Because Liam has lips made for _giving_ – “

Louis cackles roughly before slapping a hand over Niall’s mouth, muting the rest of his words, and the harsh shade of crimson staining Liam’s cheeks isn’t dimmed even after Zayn pecks a quick, off-center kiss to his jaw.

“I think I’m quite the ace boyfriend,” Harry offers, perfunctorily. He twists his cherry lips into a wide grin just for Liam, sweeping curls out of his face.

“Just smashing,” Louis swoons mockingly, rolling his eyes. “You’re bloody brilliant at _pretending_ to be someone’s boyfriend, yeah. Quite the faker.”

Harry’s jaw goes slack, eyes wide. He flicks Louis off, tracing a slow tongue around his red lips and Louis teases him with air kisses that Niall chuckles at.

“What ‘bout you then, Tommo?” Niall suggests.

Louis tilts his chin up, this haughty little smirk with an arrogant in his blue eyes. He ruffles fingers into Niall’s hair and raises an eyebrow when Liam looks up.

“Sorry, mate,” he replies without a hint of remorse. “El wouldn’t approve.”

Harry blurts out a laugh that sounds accidental, teasing while Niall tips back with an achy groan, a _‘bloody fucking bullshit’_ whispered to the ceiling. Zayn giggles softly beside Liam, fingers catching in the short hair at the nape of Liam’s neck. It’s a soft touch, reassuring, calming in ways Liam hasn’t registered just yet but –

He leans into it, unconsciously, drops an absent hand onto Zayn’s knee for a quick squeeze, a silent little _‘thank you’_ he can mumble like he usually does when Zayn provides that small space for him to crawl into.

His own personal refuge with Zayn’s long fingers and almost teenaged, crooked smile and eyes warmer than morning coffee drizzled with cream.

“You little shit,” Harry grins at Louis.

Louis shrugs back. “I’ve no time for your shenanigans, _Harold_.”

“Bullshit,” Harry quips back, still smirking.

“Is this flirting? I thought we were helping Liam,” Niall says, confused.

“You’re trying to help y’self to a blowjob,” Louis argues with a soft grin, mussing up Niall’s fuzzy hair again. “By an amateur, even.”

“He can be taught,” Niall huffs, slanting a cross look at Louis.

Louis scoffs and Liam groans softly into his shoulder. “Why are we chatting about me giving head?” he mumbles with a scrunched brow.

He gives Zayn a pleading look but Zayn shrugs weakly with a smile. He lifts surrendering hands and Liam bites into his shoulder for the laughing yelp Zayn releases.

Worst fucking best mate Liam can ever recall.

Liam blinks away from the playful arguing. There’s still soft fingers along the nape of his neck and Louis’ knee is pressed to his, Niall’s feet now somewhere half in his lap, Harry’s scarf hanging off the back of the settee near his head.

It’s all of these small connections, the way they’re always woven beautifully like those handmade bracelets they found in Sweden years ago. Tiny, minimal fixtures in each other’s lives.

All of the little doses keep him distracted. He flicks his eyes off to where Zayn’s hand rests smoothly on his shoulder now. Zayn's skin is still a little raised, completely sore and vividly red from where the fresh ink is staining the back of his hand. And Liam will admit to no one that he's been admiring the design for hours for the fuck sake of it all. Because he likes the design. Because it's just another distracting piece of art that steals attention from the crinkles around Zayn's eyes when he laughs.

Because he _can_ and Zayn is his best made so he allows it.

(Not that things like this are ever said aloud and Zayn never chastises Liam for looking just a little too long either.)

“Well lads, I s’ppose it should be me then, yeah?” Zayn offers when Liam takes his next inhale, the words sounding fragile and raspy in his throat.

He’s got that soft, teenage smile, loose strands of dark hair falling around his face. His thumb is playing under the collar of Liam’s shirt, rubbing idle circles into his skin.

“Smashing,” Louis whistles, leaning in. “You were my first choice, Malik.”

“After y’self, right?” Niall chuckles.

“Naturally,” Louis replies with half a shrug.

“Naturally,” Harry repeats, sighing. “I reckon s’not the _worst_ idea, mate.”

Niall nods, grinning so hard his eyes brighten and his pink lips stretch all over his rosy cheeks.

Liam brushes an awkward hand to the back of his neck. He bites unconsciously around his bottom lip, looking around. “How’m I s’pposed to, like. I mean. Y’think so? Like, that’d be cool?”

Louis snorts and Niall’s snuffling an affectionate smile into his neck, reaching to tickle fingers over Liam’s ear. Liam smacks him away fondly, his cheeks _aching_ with the heat brushing pink all over them.

“Mate,” Louis says sweetly, raising an arrogant eyebrow, lips already twisting into something vaguely lethal and familiar, “honestly. Can y’not see it, Payno? It’s brilliant.”

“Really?” Liam chokes out, even if he likes the way Zayn naturally navigates a hand to the nape of his neck and they press a little firmer to each other like _‘yeah, okay, possibly’_ is filtering through both of their minds.

“Wouldn’t be hard to pull off,” Harry puffs out, knocking his foot to Liam’s knee.

Niall shrugs, nodding. “I c’n see it,” he agrees, nonchalant with his smile.

Liam can feel Zayn’s soft breathing and his careful fingers and –

It’s not that people haven’t sort of _thought_ it before. Mates back home. Christ, even Ruth has asked a time or two and Zayn’s always laughed it off. He’s always tumbled into Liam’s hotel bed after Liam hangs up on her, holding his ribs while cackling, eyes crinkling up with a scrunched nose and his free hand dragging along Liam’s scalp.

Because the thought of Zayn and him is a bit ridiculous. They’re just –

“Insufferable,” Louis hums, shaking his head. “I reckon you’d barely have to put up the effort.”

Zayn reaches past Liam to punch at Louis’ shoulder. “S’not fair,” he grumbles though he hardly sounds bothered. “M’not _easy_ like you wankers.”

“Maybe not,” Harry grunts, disguising his grin with a handful of crisps, “but for Liam, you sort of are.”

“Kinda agree, mate,” Niall blurts.

Louis is already nodding and Zayn frowns, falling back into the leather, three seconds from a proper strop.

Liam snorts, shoulders shaking, crinkles already forming around his eyes. He slips a purposeful hand into Zayn’s lap, laces their fingers together, a friendly squeeze that softens all of Zayn’s features.

Zayn shoots him a happily crooked smile that Liam returns so quickly. He swears it’s a mistake when he spots the flicker of blush high on Zayn’s cheeks but he ducks his head so quickly, like it’s a secret, punching weakly at Liam’s bicep.

“Asshole,” he mutters, giggling.

“Twat,” Liam teases back, his smile still shoving helplessly at his eyes.

“Sorta brilliant idea, innit?” Zayn wonders in a half-whisper, his fond smile spreading a bit.

Liam bites down on his own lip and doesn’t answer because –

It’s _not_ , if he’s being honest.

“See,” Louis groans, softly smacking the back of Liam’s head to draw his attention. “Insufferable. Disgusting. ‘m gutted here, Payno. He’s not event trying.”

Liam pouts to disfigure the way his cheeks singe into a horribly bright crimson at the notion. He slouches back but keeps squeezing at Zayn’s hand until it feels –

Well, he doesn’t really have to _try_. It already feels sort of practiced. The soft pressure and the way their fingers fit. It’s quite believable.

(And terribly scary but he can’t think about that, not yet.)

“It’s settled, yeah,” Harry grins, launching from the armchair into the settee, squeezing between Liam and Louis. He nearly knocks Niall to the floor, Louis groaning roughly but instinctively making room for Harry.

Zayn is shoved into the arm and he’s half in Liam’s lap now with Niall’s feet kicking near Liam’s nose and Harry’s curls tickling Liam’s cheek.

“Yes, well,” Louis huffs, smiling with a hand on Harry’s spine and the other trying to hold Niall in place.

“But who’s gonna give me a pretend blowie now?” Niall whines and the echo of their laughter is almost too familiar in Liam’s ears.

It’s incredibly relaxing, even in this small space, the way they’ve always been. Such a distraction that he doesn’t think, not for once, about agreeing to lie to his family and Zayn pretending to be his date and how _easy_ all of this might be.

Especially not with Zayn’s hand squeezing around his and there’s nothing weird about that, he thinks.

But – he stops trying to figure it all out after that.

 

///

 

They’ve been on the jet for hours, the sky outside a gravel grey and he’s _exhausted_.

But Liam can’t sleep.

There’s something refusing to dilute the energy in his bones even though they left Australia hours ago. And maybe it’s the quiet in the cabin. Maybe it’s Paddy’s soft snoring two rows back and Alberto refilling the ice in the same drink he’s been coddling for thirty minutes now, the gentle clink of it against the glass.

Or it’s possibly, _probably_ , the quick text he sent his mum – _i’ve a date for the wedding! i hope u likeeee him! hes ur favorrite!! ring u laterrr x_ – between layovers that keeps him restless in his seat.

He’s drumming fingers over his knee, an earbud filtering Daft Punk into his system, eyes on the blinking lights of the wings outside with Zayn curled up in the seat next to him.

In the dark of the cabin, the thick blanket of grey and blue, Zayn’s face is impossibly soft and young, pinks lips halfway curled into a smile like he’s having a good dream. His long eyelashes are smudges of ink along his cheeks, fluttering like a waking bird between breaths. He’s got a pillow shoved against the window, shoes flicked off, this tiny hint of fatigue gone slack around his limbs.

Liam bites at his own grin, tugging a scratchy blanket around Zayn’s arms to keep him from shivering because he always forgets to cover up on long flights like this.

He always wakes up groggy with a scratchy throat and sniffles and pale skin and Liam’s always the first to haul him into a hug to warm his bones.

Liam is always the first to make him sigh out a smile before a cigarette, touching grateful fingers to Liam’s hip.

It’s not particularly overwhelming as it is just – it’s _just them_.

No one ever makes a comment, except maybe Louis or Niall when he’s moody and wants a cuddle of his own, and Liam doesn’t think he’s ever noticed.

He doesn’t think he’s meant to linger on dumb thoughts like that but he does, in the quiet funnel of the jet, hours from home.

“Quit it,” Louis moans, dropping down into the empty seat across from Liam. He doesn’t look annoyed, smiling unevenly with fringe falling thick in his eyes. He nudges Liam’s ankle playfully with a foot, winking.

Liam scowls but he resists tucking messy strands of fallen hair behind Zayn’s ear because –

 _Oh_.

Louis grins knowingly, wriggling his eyebrows. “Can’t help it?”

“I can,” Liam hisses, kicking Louis back. “Stop being daft, you little shit.”

Louis rolls his eyes, tucks his feet under him. He tugs out his phone, the glare of his camera light almost blinding Liam as he snaps off a stealthy shot of Zayn.

“Collateral,” he laughs, turning the phone around to show Liam the grainy shot.

Zayn looks far from _horrible_ or _embarrassing_ and Liam flicks his eyes away immediately when Louis catches him staring too long.

“So,” Louis smirks in that way he usually does when he’s trying to make a point, when he’s trying to rattle someone, “a wedding, yeah? Pretty massive deal, mate.”

Liam scoffs. “M’not the one getting married, you donut. It’s just – it’s a family thing.”

“A family thing with Malik,” Louis argues, still grinning.

Liam wrinkles his brow. His teeth instinctively drag on his bottom lip. “You’ve all been ‘round me family before.”

“Not as your boyfriend,” Louis beams.

 _Oh_.

Liam puffs out a breath, shrugging like he’s indifferent about it. He swipes his thumb over his phone to change the song, some Drake tune with heavy beats and familiar lyrics. He stares intently out the window rather than at Louis before he replies, “But it’s fake. It’s pretend, Lou, so bugger off.”

His tongue pushes along his lip when he hears Louis’ muffled laugh.

“You could’ve asked Harry,” Louis says, shrugging halfheartedly when Liam looks up.

Liam thumbs along his bottom lip, hiding half of his grin behind his knuckles. “You can’t take Harry anywhere,” he comments, a laugh vibrating at the back of his throat.

“True,” Louis snorts. “The paps love him, yeah.”

“Quite a bit,” Liam chuckles, brushing limp hair from his forehead.

“That’s fair,” Louis nods, stretching out over the seats. “I once tried to take the wanker to my hotel room and there were already twenty paps between the sheets, eating up all of the chocolate mints.”

Liam chokes on his next laugh and Zayn shifts next to him, mumbling into his pillow. His fingers naturally reach out, brushing over Zayn’s temple to quiet him again. Louis raises an eyebrow at him before Liam quickly jolts his hand away.

He didn’t – he’s barely noticed it. The small touches, the way Zayn presses a smile back into his pillow, sighing contently.

“Fuck off,” Liam hisses, dropping his head. His cheeks still sting from the blush but his lips are immediately quirking, just around the corners, into something like a smile.

He thinks Louis Tomlinson is an absolute twat.

“S’fine,” Louis insists with a loud yawn. He stretches further into the small space, blinking droopy eyes. “It’s cool, man, really. It’s _Zayn_. We get it, I swear.”

Liam blinks hard at him. His brow knits together, fingers unconsciously clutching at his knee. There’s a little acceleration in his heart and in his lungs when Louis wriggles his eyebrows. He shoots Louis a confused expression, slumping in his seat.

Louis groans, sighing loudly. “It’s Zayn, mate. We sort of _expect_ it, y’know? You two. Fucking twits, I swear.”

The implications are there but Liam still manages to choke out, “What?”

Louis squints at him with puckered lips. “C’mon now, you daft asshole. He’s your favorite.”

“He’s not.” It’s another lie, except this one isn’t intended.

It’s just that –

“I don’t have favorites,” he argues because nothing else makes sense in his head.

Louis drops his shoulders, shoots Liam this doubtful look. Liam flips him off in return, scowling.

“Even Niall knows it, bro,” Louis sighs, dragging a hand up to clear the fringe from his eyelashes. “Though he pretends like it’s nothing. Like all the time you spend with him is special.”

“It is special,” Liam grumbles, pouting.

“Bullocks,” Louis laughs, shaking his head. “S’like Harry and I back at the bungalow – “

“Wellington,” Liam grins.

Louis flips him off this time and they chuckle softly together in the shadows. “Y’just have a different thing with Malik, alright?”

Liam blinks at him for a long moment because he’s too drowsy to think and the music in his ear is just white noise now but he can still make out Zayn’s soft breathing next to him which, by all accounts, should be a bit weird.

Except, Liam thinks he always notices things like that about Zayn.

 _Christ_.

“It’s not that huge of a deal, Lou,” he whispers, shagging a hand through his hair.

“Why didn’t you just find a bird then?” Louis asks, conversationally, but Liam can feel the hint in his quiet tone.

He shrugs, biting along his lip. “It’ll be fun with Zayn, though, yeah? We always – like, it’ll be loads more fun with someone I like. Me best mate.”

“Your favorite,” Louis interjects and Liam softens his own groan with a fist between his teeth.

It’s just that – he doesn’t think it’s a massive deal. It’s a weekend, honestly. A weekend of lying to his family, to some of his mates but Zayn will be there. Next to him, helping him along. He’ll find dumb things for Liam to laugh at and he’ll drag Liam away from boring conversations to sneak a cigarette and when Liam is quiet for too long, Zayn won’t bother him. He’ll curl an arm around Liam’s stiff shoulders and laugh into his neck and whisper all of Liam’s favorite lines from those Kanye tunes they love.

He doesn’t think it would be hugely different than any weekend he’s spent knocking the ball around on Louis’ mini pitch in the yard or having a pub crawl with Harry in a foreign city or kipping on Niall’s sofa after they’ve played video games.

It’s just Zayn. They’re a bit _different_ and he likes that. Massively so, but still.

Zayn stirs next to him, snuffling and sighing, wriggling uncomfortably in his chair.

Liam eases a warm hand over Zayn’s shoulder, strokes it until his fingers can press to the ink high on Zayn’s spine. Zayn settles under him and Liam adjusts the itchy blanket until Zayn’s breathing goes even again.

“Y’alright?” he whispers with Zayn’s soft hair brushing his knuckles.

Zayn mumbles, eyelashes beating on his cheeks. He sleepily drags his pillow from the window, readjusts, shoves it under Liam’s arm and over his ribs before cuddling up.

There’s a pliant, fond smile quirking his lips when he curls an arm over Liam’s abdomen.

“Shut up, prick,” he sighs, his nose twitching until he’s sleep again.

Liam smiles down at him, rolling his eyes. “Wanker,” he says softly, fixing Zayn’s hair behind his ear.

He startles when Louis sucks in a sharp breath, already smirking and waving a hand between them like it’s meant to say something his curved mouth refuses to.

Liam tenses, shucking his hand off of Zayn. Louis grins smugly across from him and Liam doesn’t bother speaking to him for the rest of the flight.

 

///

 

Liam loves Niall’s flat in London.

He adores the cozy couch, the soft cushions, the way it melts around all of his limbs when he slumps down on it. He loves the flat screen on the wall – the same size as his, but still – and the way he can be sat for hours with his feet propped up, watching reruns of _Mad Men_ while Niall shoves salty crisps in his mouth.

There’s a quiet that Liam can’t find at his own flat. Too many fans outside, too close to the heart of the city, too many unfamiliar scents from always being on the road.

Niall’s flat smells like warm biscuits and strong tea and thick body spray instead of proper cologne.

Liam loves how Niall puts on old rock tunes that Liam doesn’t recognize, playing air guitar, wailing through a chorus, snuggling up to Liam to share all of his favorite riffs in a Queen song. Just Liam’s fingers on his scalp, their knees knocking, the fire flicking heat at their bare feet, the world outside just static now.

They’re on their _fifth_ – probably sixth, maybe tenth – round of FIFA and Liam still can’t shake the jet lag. He yawns between matches with the city lights blinking under a dark lavender sky like screaming stars in the background.

Niall keeps flicking at his snapback, just a distraction. He’s in nothing but pants with socks tugged all the way up to his knees, pale skin glowing metallic blue from the telly and lights outside. His hair is thicker, softer when Liam plays with one hand, dragging his fingers through Niall’s flattened quiff with his free hand.

He nudges an elbow to Niall’s ribs, laughing at the way Niall holds his tongue between his teeth, eyebrows drawn in concentration.

“’S just a game, mate,” Liam giggles.

Niall rolls his eyes, smirking. “Keep telling y’self that, Payno.”

Liam shrugs, scrunching his nose with another laugh. “You’ve already lost three.”

“ _Two_ ,” Niall argues, jabbing Liam with an elbow while going for another goal. “And _I am the Neymar_. Taught ‘im everyt’ing he knows.”

“Bullshit,” Liam snickers, shoving Niall away, a dirty diversion.

“Fucker,” Niall says with a scowl but the little crinkles near his eyes, the twitch around his mouth gives him away. “Ye need practice.”

“Can’t help it you and Tommo spend most nights cheating to win at this,” Liam smirks.

“And plotting to shag Harry,” Niall teases, wriggling his eyebrows.

Liam chokes on a laugh and groans when Niall uses the deviation to finally score. He kicks Niall’s ankle, smothering most of Niall’s barking laugh with a pillow he finds behind his head. They struggle over the couch but Liam’s bigger, stronger. He pins Niall down with one arm, giggling.

Niall comes up from beneath the pillow with a gasp, red-faced and grinning. There’s glitter in his eyes, broken shards of blue. He steals Liam’s snapback to fluff backwards over his own messy hair before cuddling up.

“You owe me,” he sighs, smiling.

Liam lifts an eyebrow, an arm automatically folding around Niall’s broad shoulders.

“We never agreed on a bet,” Liam teases, his voice low and scratchy from his own laughter.

“Not for _that_ ,” Niall replies, a pout pushing at his lips. “Can’t believe you picked Zayn over me.”

Liam wrinkles his own brow. He pinches Niall’s shoulder, watching the skin turn a sharp crimson before the mark fades off. “I haven’t.”

Niall scoffs. “You have.”

“Nialler – “

“I’m shaggable, ‘m I not?” Niall wonders, cocking his head back to smirk up at Liam.

“S’not a word,” Liam mumbles, already pinning his bottom lip between his teeth.

Niall makes a face, reaching up to flick Liam’s nose. “Like psychiatry?”

His throat constricts around the moan from his chest. It’s a dumb joke now. He gets it – he’ll never be as brilliant as Zayn with language or cheeky like Harry or swift like Louis is. He can’t even finish a fucking Sunday crossword and bloody hell they just keep reminding him.

Liam hates all of them, he swears. Each one. Zayn included.

“You’re not, like. Are you really properly cross about this?” Liam asks between their quiet breaths.

Niall shifts next to him but not to get away. To move closer, rubbing his chin along Liam’s collarbone. Liam tightens his arm around Niall’s shoulder, his feet kicking back and forth to keep time with the _‘running into the sun but I’m running behind’_ in the background.

“Not quite,” Niall replies in this teasing voice that Liam is so fond of. “He’s bloody gorgeous, the twat.”

Liam laughs into the shell of Niall’s ear. “He’s okay.”

“S’not me, though,” Niall points out and Liam refuses to argue.

Zayn is – he’s different. He crawls into a distinctive tangle of veins under Liam’s skin and he fits awkwardly in this little space in Liam’s heart and he’s a variation of something familiar that Liam loves.

But he’s not Niall and Liam doesn’t know what that means. Not yet.

“Doesn’t matter,” Liam insists, smacking a loud peck to Niall’s temple. “You’re busy that weekend anyway, mate.”

“How’d you know?” Niall whines.

Liam gives him a crooked smile that shoves at his eyes. “C’mon Ni,” he huffs, leaning back to watch the flicks of embers from the fireplace smudged orange into Niall’s eyes. “I’m the _sensible_ one – “

“Former sensible one,” Niall corrects with wide eyes. “You’ve been corrupted, Payno.”

Liam lets out a protesting pout but he doesn’t argue. He’s still far better at keeping up with their tour dates and plane arrivals and passports than Louis or Zayn, sometimes Harry, but he’s lost some of that neatly pressed khakis and fully buttoned Oxfords boy a long time ago.

“I know your schedule, Ni,” he says, flatly.

“See! S’why I’m more boyfriend-y than Zayner,” Niall yelps, frowning before scowling at Liam.

Liam smiles gently. “Again, ‘s not a word.”

Niall scowls at him for a moment, poking a rough finger between Liam’s ribs until he jolts back with a tiny giggle. Niall rolls his eyes, sighing. “Clever bastard,” he grumbles while sneaking back under the weight of Liam’s arm.

Liam nudges his chin to the side of Niall’s head, chuckling.

“S’alright,” Niall huffs, lips puckered into a wild pout. “I’ve got Josh.”

“And Sandy,” Liam grins.

“And I’ve got Harry,” Niall adds, rubbing aimless circles between the slats of Liam’s ribs. “My very own Harry Styles, you shit.”

Liam brushes a laugh to Niall’s temple. “If you two really were shagging, it’d be horrible.”

“Loud. Crazy loud.”

“Loud and horrible,” Liam snickers softly, letting the noise of the city and the humming anthem of FIFA on the telly fill their empty spaces.

“S’fine,” Niall finally shrugs, sounding a little less bothered. “Zaynie is more your type, mate.”

Liam crinkles his brow, lips puckering into a pout. “I don’t have a type of lad, Ni – “

It’s mostly true. He thinks, if he did, it’d be some art student with dry colorful paint under his nails and loose tartan shirts he’d steal from Liam’s collection and heavy boots and a taste for strong coffee in the morning. Nice eyes, probably. Lips swollen with sin and soft skin and –

Liam stops thinking. He watches the orangey light from the fireplace smear over the guitars hanging from the wall instead.

“Shut it,” Niall laughs, the sound rattling in his chest like when he’s genuinely amused. “Zee and you fit better. You just – you two fucking _fit_ , alright? Ye just do.”

Liam sighs softly, nosing along the snapback. “We’re not really dating.”

“Yeah, I know,” Niall smirks. It’s a little bit Louis in its shape but vaguely cheeky when he turns his chin up. “Not technically. But you gotta admit it, bro – you’s two are really brilliant together.”

Liam blinks down at him, squinting his eyes.

“Insane.”

“Niall,” Liam groans, grabbing his controller to start up another match.

“Sickest non-boyfriend-y lads I know.”

“Fuck off,” Liam laughs but it feels like he’s suffocating.

“Fucking hot,” Niall whispers in this filthy, scratchy voice that makes Liam blush.

He tugs his arm off of Niall, turning away.

“Can I watch when you two pretend to shag?”

Liam jerks another pillow from behind his back, smacks it into Niall’s face and pretends the hum of Fleetwood Mac on the stereo is louder than the achy laughter from Niall’s stupid mouth.

 

///

 

It’s a Saturday night and there’s this nameless anxiousness beneath Liam’s bones, between each of his breaths.

He keeps twisting his phone between his fingers, sighing at the telly, bare feet kicked up on the coffee table in his flat. Paddy is quiet behind him, at the breakfast table, browsing through his laptop. London is noisy with traffic and music and a world inside of a city screaming at him to explore.

Liam bites along his bottom lip. He’s not dressed for a club, though a few of his mates have sent him messages to drive down to the Funky Buddha. He considers it, humming. Maybe he can burn off this energy, this restlessness with alcohol and dancing.

He could go for dinner with that nice girl – _Lola_? Or was it _Leanne_? Maybe _Lucy_ – Louis introduced him to at a mutual friend’s dinner party a few weeks back. She was pretty with a cigarette between her fingers, her shoulders kissed an artificial gold, messy hair and too much perfume. Her smile was warm, her voice that tender throatiness he recognizes from too much smoke.

It’s so familiar – Zayn’s raw voice when he first wakes up, after a smoke, still a little drowsy and happy and waiting for his first cup of tea.

Liam grins, tucks his chin even though he’s not very visible to Paddy from this side of the sofa. He rubs a hand down his face, blinking down at his phone.

His mum has been texting him about the wedding. About this nameless date Liam still refuses to reveal because –

He’s not _nervous_. His mum loves Zayn. His dad is quite fond of Zayn. His sisters text him at least once a month just to ask about him but –

Liam scrunches his face, groaning softly. Paddy clears his throat and Liam hides his embarrassed grin in a throw pillow – some dumb idea his last girlfriend suggested to make his flat more _homely_.

He thinks the pile of dirty socks, the collection of cologne and hair product around the basin in his bathroom, his childhood school blazer hung in one of his closets makes this place much cozier than some dumb decorative pillow.

His fingers squeeze at his phone again. He hasn’t quite figured out the right words to tell – to _lie_ to his family about the wedding, his date, about Zayn. Liam has become quite adept at avoiding his mum’s phone calls, pleading exhaustion in the way of explaining the part about Liam bringing a _boy_ as his date.

It’s an awful, cold, awkward feeling in his blood.

But his mum smiles from the other end of the phone, sighing, begging Liam to call her later.

He never does and it aches like tremors in his veins for hours afterwards.

The television is a fuzzy tune of white noise in the background. He blinks up at another loop of _Batman Begins_ on the telly. He smirks gently, tipping his head back.

London’s lights blink like glittery stars over the walls, casting silhouettes and smeared patterns. He swipes the last few messages off of his phone and scrolls through his contacts with his lips tilting up.

_i am batman! x. ;)_

He considers snapping off a quick selfie to attach to the message but he quickly brushes the thought off. His thumb swipes to send the message and he sighs happily up at the ceiling.

It’s only seconds before Zayn replies –

_sick!! which one man??_

Something warm and unfocused dilates the cells in Liam’s blood and he swears it’s the adrenaline. It’s the extra endorphins. The push of fucking dopamine in his system when he grins down at his phone. His thumb is quicker than his brain and he taps out a quick –

_batmann begins! but im boreddddddd :( madness mannn_

He huffs out a breath, pinching his lip with his teeth. This is daft and unlike him but –

_its late you can drop by if you want?? wicked tunes on blast! breezy!! chillin right now x :)_

That itch – _anxious energy_ , he calls it – under his skin starts to cool and Liam twists around on the couch to grin sheepishly at Paddy.

“Patrick,” he croons.

Paddy squints at him, annoyance in the set of his mouth. “Liam James Payne, if you plan on getting out to that shit in the wall club without me again – “

Liam groans, shaking his head, burying his face in his forearm. He noses over the dark chevrons on the underside, laughing. “Nope,” he hums, blinking up shyly.

He shoots Paddy a small pout that he’s used on Paul so many times that the effect feels meaningless. But it knocks a smile from Paddy’s lips, a sigh in his next breath.

“Is this about a girl?”

Liam winces, sputtering a laugh. “Hardly.”

“Jack Daniels or vodka this time?”

“Paddy,” Liam groans, flopping back on the couch. He flails a little while Paddy laughs from the table. “C’mon, man, I’m being serious.”

“Well then you’re shit at it, mate.”

He peeks his head over the back of the sofa, a weak grin on his lips. Paddy narrows his eyes this time, folding his arms.

“I promise I’ll be safe,” Liam offers.

“ _Liam_ – “

“And you always say I need to, like, spend more time doing _‘normal’_ laddish things, yeah? So this wouldn’t be awful,” Liam adds, tilting his head.

“Liam Payne, if this involves Louis Tomlinson or anything with that Styles boy being arse-naked then – “

“It’s just Zayn,” Liam sighs, resting his chin on his forearms.

Paddy stills. Something unidentifiably soft pulls at his mouth as he leans back in his chair. It’s screaming something at Liam he can’t quite hear but, unconsciously, his cheeks go pink and goosebumps chase up his arms.

He doesn’t understand it and he’s not in a proper mood to ask Paddy about it. Instead –

“You’re gonna hang out with Malik?” Paddy inquires with that obnoxiously loud smile.

Liam scowls. “Yeah,” he exhales.

“Without the boys?”

His face wrinkles and his fuzzy eyebrows lower, his mouth tightened into a rough pout. “Is that too much trouble?” he huffs with enough frustration that Paddy laughs.

“Not at all,” Paddy chuckles, holding surrendering hands up. “Sounds brilliant, lad. Lovely. I’ll get a car.”

Liam grimaces while Paddy tugs out his phone, makes a few calls. He slides down between the wedge of cushions on the sofa, kicking his feet back up. He glares at his phone, thumbing out –

_:) i hope I remmbr where u live!_

He sighs, rolling off the couch to find something a little more appropriate to wear –

Not that Zayn would complain about Liam wearing stained joggers, a wrinkled Hulk shirt, a snapback but –

Paddy’s laughing into the phone as Liam picks through a pile of clothes from the last washing day. He’s mumbling to someone, grinning up at Liam and Liam palms the nape of his neck, scowling back.

“We’ll need takeaway too. Zayn never has anything at his,” Liam grumbles.

Paddy cups a hand over his phone, smirking. “Already ordered some curry and stuffed paratha from that place you two love. It’s a quick stop-off on the way to his.”

Liam blinks away his startled expression when Paddy turns away, mumbling and laughing again. His skin is hot and flushed. He stares at Paddy’s back and bites down on the _‘fucking smug bastard’_ in his throat. He smiles down at his bare feet wiggling on the cold floor and it’s not the most awful thing.

Maybe he and Zayn still like the same things. Maybe everyone notices. They should, right? Zayn is his best mate. It’s always been that way.

(Maybe Zayn is that comfortable scent in your clothes, after the wash and the bleach, that stains your memory for months.)

Liam bites over his lip, finds a comfortable shirt and avoids thinking about all of the other rubbish floating around in his head.

 

///

 

Liam watches his visibly cool white breath from under the soft shading of light outside of Zayn’s front door.

There’s something about Hertfordshire that Liam’s always been fond of. He thinks it’s the way the night is so quiet here. The night is a thin blanket above him and the stars seem so much closer than they are in the heart of London. The streets are empty and there’s this unlived energy between the tree branches that hovers above his shoulders.

“Y’think he fell asleep?” Liam asks over his shoulder, clutching the large brown paper bag of takeaway between his fingers.

Paddy snorts, shrugging. “Seems like Zayn or summat.”

“But he buzzed us through the gate,” Liam frowns.

“Quit being a pup,” Paddy teases, nodding towards the door.

Liam makes a face at Paddy, sticking his tongue out when Paddy chuckles before turning on his heels to the slow crawl of an opening door.

“You could’ve stayed in the car,” Liam adds with a soft hiss, wrinkling out a smile that Paddy can’t see.

A large hand grabs the back of his shoulder, giving a comforting squeeze like it’s something Liam _needs_ –

He doesn’t realize that, yeah, maybe he does until all of the nervous cells under his skin start to break apart and he finally breathes something ridiculously _normal_ when Zayn leans into the doorframe with a crooked grin.

The hollow light from inside spills tendrils of caramel-gold all over Zayn’s shoulders and hips, his bare feet digging into the carpet. His pink tongue pushes against the back of his teeth when he smiles, an insanely loose shirt with a collar cut low enough to show off peeks of red lips stained to the middle of his chest. The Arabic lettering traces along his collarbone in the same familiar pattern Liam has skimmed his fingers over when the ink was still fresh.

His dark hair is damp, soft-looking as it falls messily around his face. Liam smirks at the way Zayn looks younger with the backlight and the dark sky outside.

“You didn’t get lost, man,” Zayn says, his voice scratchy.

Liam’s sheepishly warm smile stretches his lips. Paddy huffs a laugh behind him.

“I couldn’t. _Mum_ was there the whole way,” Liam sighs between a laugh, jerking his head at Paddy.

A rough hand knocks against his shoulder and he can’t keep the giggle in his chest.

“Paddy,” Zayn says with a nod.

“Zayner,” Paddy beams, thumping his shoulder with Liam’s to get by. He pats Zayn’s cheek on the way in, like all of this is completely normal.

Like Liam spends nights here, regularly. Like their lives have been interwoven enough that even security feels like family. Like Liam and Zayn have this unspoken language that extends all the way to Paddy, Preston too.

“Mum wants t’ make sure you don’t break curfew?” Zayn teases with wiggling eyebrows.

He can’t stop the crinkles around his eyes, the startling loud laugh that barrels out of his throat, the way his shoulders draw up.

Zayn shoots him a drowsy smile, brushing hair out of his eyes. There’s not enough stubble on his jaw, his jeans riding low on his hips, ripped and stained with paint like the seventeen year old version of himself Liam fell in love with.

The sort of best mate Andy never was – quiet and amusing and just shy of that cigarette-cool bloke the world sees him as.

“Shut up,” he half-giggles, shoving the bag at Zayn. “I brought you stuff.”

Zayn inhales immediately, grinning with wide eyes. Just under the shadows and long eyelashes, there’s a breath of pink along his cheekbones.

Liam rolls his eyes, tossing a playful punch at Zayn’s shoulder. “Yeah, yeah,” he laughs. “Your favorite, man.”

Zayn ducks his head quickly, thick strands of hair in his face and Liam swears he doesn’t go pinker but –

“Fucking wicked,” Zayn breathes, shifting a little to make room for Liam in the doorway. “You didn’t have’ta.”

“Fuck right,” Liam chuckles because he’s avoiding that hot breath of something weird in his lungs.

“Tryna impress me, mate?”

Liam hip-checks Zayn aside but they linger almost pressed together in the doorway. It’s not intentionally there but Zayn’s free fingers catch in the belt loop of Liam’s jeans and Liam’s hand finds the nape of Zayn’s neck, under the tickling thick hair, and they breathe in unison.

In solidarity. Best mates. This unspoken connection.

“Bloody prick,” Zayn sighs, his smile wider.

Liam’s nose scrunches with his smirk. “Knobhead,” he teases but he lets Zayn tug him in and they half-hug in the large frame of the door.

He keeps his chin on Zayn’s shoulder, feels a warm nose under his jaw, a spare hand finding the small dip in his spine. They don’t move, except for the tiny lift of their chests when they breathe. He sniffs at Zayn’s sandalwood body scrub and an odor of cigarettes and that sweet citrus shampoo he nicked from Liam back in the States.

(and under all of the layers, Liam smells _Zayn_ – this maddening little scent of home that Liam loves whenever they’re away from England)

“Got me a copy of _Guardians of the Galaxy_ ,” Zayn grins into Liam’s shoulder. “Think I got some sick wine Harry left on his last visit.”

Liam smirks, snuffling his nose to Zayn’s collar, laughing. “I reckon we’ve got a huge night planned then.”

“Massive,” Zayn giggles, scratching his fingers up and down Liam’s spine.

Liam takes one more huff of Zayn’s scent – for memory or, well, he’s not sure – before pulling away. He drags a shy hand down his face to wipe the abashed look away when Zayn raises an eyebrow at him.

“Shut the fuck up,” Liam chokes out, nudging his hip.

“Miss me?”

“I missed your fucking surround sound,” Liam chuckles but his cheeks are still warm, this disgusting dayglo pink when he catches his reflection in a window.

“Fucking tosser,” Zayn giggles.

Liam toes off his boots by the door, biting his lip.

Zayn is pressed to the metal door, most of his hair out of his face, his head tipped back. His smile bunches his eyes and there’s this careless air between them. It relaxes all of Liam’s tendons, the quiet ache in his muscles.

(but behind those spidery eyelashes, Liam thinks he sees something indifferent in Zayn’s eyes – an unsaid _want_ but that sounds daft in his head. It just – it sounds completely daft.)

He reaches out to twist one of Zayn’s nipples, cackling when Zayn yelps and almost drops the food.

“Love you Zaynie,” he says mockingly like a swift, ineffective apology between breathy laughs.

Zayn scowl gives way to a shocked grin. “You shit,” he growls.

Their smiles are like giant supernovas and their eyes are crinkled little masses of stars. Zayn reaches to smack at Liam’s shoulder and Liam ducks, swiping at Zayn’s belly. They’re dopey and giggly, teasing each other with hands and little looks. They scramble over the carpet, stumbling up the stairs, howling through every room like fucking kids.

Like blissed out teenagers running into the night instead of away from it.

 

///

 

“Wow, fuck, man,” Liam breathes out with wide eyes, a hand in his hair, slowly pulling. “It’s just – it’s pretty sick, Zayn.”

Zayn makes a mocking noise behind him, knocking over a few empty aerosol cans. “Oh shut up,” he says with a hiss but there’s a soft smile in his voice. “I’m rubbish, man. You don’t have’ta – “

“No, no,” Liam says quickly, still blinking at the wall. “It really is – I mean, I dunno. I don’t really know any proper art words or shit. But it’s like – it’s fucking _beautiful_ , Zayn.”

Over the years, Liam is certain he’s been a little to adamant about things for the sake of self-confidence – Louis’ voice when it’s raw and worn, the way Danielle fit into a dress, Niall’s goofy, crooked smile when he had braces, Harry’s always questionable love for skintight jeans, Zayn in a letterman jacket – but he can’t help this genuine flutter in his stomach this time.

He’s used to Zayn’s lazy sketches and dumb doodles and half-arsed character drawings on coffee napkins, tiles in a backstage loo, any empty surface he can press a Sharpie to. He thinks it’s been ages since Zayn has drug him into this room of the house. His art room. His private little space away from the world.

His teeth drag along his lower lip and his eyes refuse to leave the feature wall splattered in crazy graffiti, a mad combination of colors, rough sketches of a Batman and a spray painted Hulk outlined neatly in thick Sharpie lines.

It’s incredible, really. The varied mediums. The slowly learned techniques Zayn’s picked up on. Liam can’t focus his eyes anywhere for too long but he can’t quite look away either.

It’s manic like stepping off a rollercoaster with too many loops and Liam loves it. He loves how his breath keeps hitching every time he finds another little drawing hidden in the madness. Another memento of their adventures. Another little comic book character that they both love and whisper about during long rides on the tour bus.

“Magneto?” Liam asks, carefully brushing his fingertips over a red and purple stained helmet.

“Was gonna, like, put a Wolverine in there or summat,” Zayn admits, sounding sheepish and nervous behind Liam. “Can’t quite get ‘im down, though.”

“You will,” Liam grins, rocking on his heels.

“Shut up,” Zayn laughs, inching in, his warmth skimming the line of Liam’s spine.

“And Gambit,” Liam adds, tilting his head to smirk at all of the Bob Marley touches. “He’s my favorite.”

“I know,” Zayn says, shy and vulnerable.

He waves a shaky finger towards a corner of the wall and Liam blinks hard at a glowing playing card with an _‘LP’_ inked into opposite corners.

“Its shit,” Zayn sighs with a breathy laugh.

Liam bites roughly on his bottom lip and doesn’t reply. But his heart – it skips and tightens around all of the blood and dizzying.

He thinks of that lightheaded rush after the first dip of a rollercoaster and it’s all too confusing to settle on.

“Gonna be famous one day, lad. Zayn Malik, former member of One Direction,” Liam laughs with this nervous coil around the noise, “and all of his artwork. Gonna be in museums, man. The Met, even. Out in New York.” His artificial accent is horrible, poorly timed but Zayn laughs genuinely behind him and all of the oxygen stirring in Liam’s lungs finally implodes.

“Nah,” Zayn smirks, pressing his chest to Liam’s spine. “Wouldn’t ever leave you lot. Couldn’t leave you behind, Li.”

It’s soft, like he’s trying to hide it in his throat, and the height difference is so apparent like this. Without their shoes, bare feet over a white sheet dirtied by all of Zayn’s paints.

Zayn presses onto the tips of his toes to hook his chin over Liam’s shoulder, soft and messy hair tickling Liam’s cheek. He curls an arm around Liam’s torso, presses a flat palm to Liam’s chest.

(Liam wonders if Zayn can feel his unsteady heart under his fingertips or if maybe Zayn is counting all of Liam’s breaths, synching his own to them. It’s stupid and he decides not to think but – )

He stares down at the long fingers and it’s the first time he notices the specks of paint along his knuckles, under his nails. He blinks down at the mehndi design inked along his wrist, the newest stains of landscape on the back of his hand.

His next breath collides with his last in his throat and this unfamiliar feeling curls around all of his bones.

“One day, bro,” Liam whispers, half-turning until his nose twitches from Zayn’s hair, “You’ll see, man. You’re so much bigger than us.”

He doesn’t know if it’s intentional but Zayn’s arm tightens around him like _‘I won’t let go’_ and his fingers dig into Liam’s chest for a second.

Zayn snorts, drags his nose over Liam’s shoulder. “Nah, man. ‘m nothing without you – without the lads. Just dumb luck f’me.”

Liam wrinkles his brow and thinks to protest but Zayn pulls away a little too quickly.

(The sting of the cold, the lack of pressure, Zayn’s missing touch leaves a little mark inside of Liam that he thinks is just that _separation anxiety_ Louis and his mum and Danielle used to always warn him about. The attachment issues, he thinks. That’s all it is.)

“Think Paddy’s still snoring on the settee?” Zayn asks with a mischievous grin he only shares with Louis when they’re planning something awful. He’s twirling a Sharpie between his long fingers before he adds, “We could, like, draw dicks on ‘im or summat.”

They’ve finished half of the takeaway, most of the first bottle of wine, and Paddy is probably snoring somewhere between _‘come and get your love’_ and _‘but then I fooled around and fell in love’_ and Liam smiles crookedly at the way Zayn’s tongue presses between his teeth with his grin.

“Tommo is an awful influence,” he teases, cupping the back of his neck.

Zayn shrugs, wriggling his eyebrows because they both know Zayn is just as horrible.

“You’re the corrupted one,” Zayn snickers, biting at his pink bottom lip.

A light stroke of cotton candy floods Liam’s cheeks. He ducks his head, replying, “Not half as bad as you twats.”

“Drunken tweets?” Zayn mocks.

Liam snorts, shaking his head. “Nope.”

“Arse-naked Instagrams?” Zayn reminds him with a throaty laugh.

“You saw that?” Liam shoots back and the light buries the stinging flush Liam thinks he spots on Zayn’s cheeks. “I had on pants.”

“S’what you were _implying_ , babe,” Zayn shrugs, a halfhearted grin licked over his lips.

“Whatever,” Liam giggles but his own cheeks keep burning. He half-turns away and flicks his eyes over the leather couch angled crookedly in the corner.

It takes him a few seconds to recognize what’s hanging off the arm of the couch. It’s still a bright red, a bit faded, wrinkled and smaller than Liam remembers. He shuffles his feet over the sheet, curls his fingers into the soft fabric, yanking it up.

The collar is a little stretched but it still feels the same between his fingers. It tricks a defenseless smile from the corners of his mouth. The same stain from a pasta date with Danielle on the hem, a smear of white from his toothpaste on a sleeve.

“You kept this?” Liam asks over his shoulder, holding up the red jumper.

Zayn blinks at him, long eyelashes tossing smudgy shadows over his cheeks. He shrugs with one shoulder, looking careless but –

(under all of it, he looks young and anxious and every bit of that boy from Bradford who would steal away into Liam’s bunk in the middle of the night to cuddle because he missed home)

He brushes hair out of his face, chewing at his lip. “Yeah,” Zayn breathes.

Liam’s mouth twitches. It’s a helpless smile, huge and pushing crinkles around his eyes.

It still smells like _Gucci by Gucci_ , Liam’s old citrus body wash, strong coffee they would share in the morning while yawning and scratching at their bellies.

“I was hiding it from you,” Zayn adds with a chuckle buried in his shoulder. “You look awful in it.”

“Fucking liar,” Liam frowns but it’s put upon. He can’t contain it – his smile. “I looked bloody _fit_ in it.”

“Yeah,” Zayn repeats, under his breath, looking down.

Liam catches his lip with his teeth. He stares down at the soft material between his hands, crumpling it.

“You did too,” he adds, twitching out a small smile he hides from Zayn.

(He hides the blush too. The memories of how the jumper was always so loose around Zayn’s shoulders, baggy where it fit comfortably around Liam’s torso. He buries them and hopes the heavy lights overhead don’t spill over his flushed cheeks when he looks up.)

Zayn is staring at him, his tongue slowly licking dryness from his lips. His eyes are a bit dark like burnt coals. His hand reaches up to scoop hair out of his face before he flashes Liam a lazy grin.

“We need more wine,” he hiccups, turning away.

Liam nods even though Zayn isn’t looking at him anymore.

“Think mum stashed some leftover cake in the fridge when she was here last too,” Zayn adds, already padding bare feet towards the door.

“M’sure Lou left some of his good weed in a cupboard too,” Liam laughs, eyes crinkling again.

Zayn shakes his head as he trips out the door, a breathy giggle of _‘the corrupted one’_ fumbling off his tongue as he ducks around a corner.

Liam sighs happily. There’s content in his blood and his head is still somewhere in the dizziness, even when Zayn’s not there.

He loves this.

It’s sticky and warm and they haven’t been like this in too long.

(he waits until he can hear Zayn’s feet down the hall before he lifts the jumper for a quick sniff, a quick flood to his senses – a pale memory splattered with colors again)

He balls the jumper up, tucks it under an arm before following Zayn towards the kitchen. He thinks, absently, memories like this shouldn’t be tossed like rubbish in a bin.

 

///

 

The night’s sky above Zayn’s deck makes Liam smile. It reminds him of that Van Gough painting his sister bought an imitation print of when she was going through her _‘modern art student’_ period between university terms. It draws a fond smile from the corners of his lips when he shrugs into a small, fuzzy jumper stolen from Zayn’s couch, padding outside.

His toes wiggle in his socks at the first cold breath of the night. He pulls his arms around himself, lips curving at Zayn.

He’s leaning over the railing, a half-finished cigarette with drooping ash between his index and middle finger. His pink lips blow a soft breath of grey clouds upward. There’s a ratty white beanie pulled over his hair, a wrinkled t-shirt bare-thin over his wiry frame and jeans slung low over his arse. Long eyelashes glitter metallic under the moon, this side of London so noiseless.

Liam loves it and that’s nothing new.

(but the filthy beat of his heart at the way Zayn looks, the long line of his spine like foreign geometry and his ankles crossed, his fingers flicking away ash, his skin paler here is a fresh memory)

Zayn gives a little shiver when the breeze washes down and Liam laughs, asks, “Cold?”

Zayn smirks unevenly, a fog of smoke between his teeth when he looks up at the purple sky. The stars look like giant fucking spotlights, cool minty white beaming down over Zayn’s lawn. Over his garden. Over all of his unfinished projects laid across the grass.

“Nah,” he says scratchily, dumping more ash into the air. “M’good, man.”

“Liar,” Liam laughs quietly, shuffling up to Zayn. He knocks their shoulders, just a brush, widening his smile when Zayn huffs out a throaty laugh.

“You git,” Zayn smiles, blinking down at Liam’s hand when his fingers curl around the steely cold railing.

“Idiot,” Liam says with an aching grin.

They sway into the quiet, this part of their little globe all their own.

He’s certain every moment with Niall is cozy and frankly warm, the moments with Harry like a riot or a rave you don’t walk away from, every second with Louis a murder-mystery-sitcom hybrid that he sort of yearns for when everything is too silent.

But with Zayn – it’s _art_.

He doesn’t think anyone ever looks at it the same, not with the same thoughts, not without their own view. He likes that. He craves it, really.

“What’re you doing out here?” Liam wonders, cocking his head sideways.

Zayn shrugs carelessly. “Just chillin’, I s’ppose.”

“Loads of chilling?” Liam snorts out.

“Loads of chillin’, bro,” Zayn repeats, that little twitch of a smile still lingering.

He inhales a slow drag of smoke, blows it away from Liam’s face even though Liam doesn’t mind. He’s used to it – the scent of Marlboro Reds. The way the aroma sticks to Zayn’s clothes, his skin, even after a long shower. And Zayn’s never bothered commenting on Liam’s affinity for Kools or his awful habit of quitting for three days only to duck away to a Tesco for a fresh pack when he’s been thinking too much.

(It’s more frequent now – this loneliness. The way his flat doesn’t always smell like sweet perfume anymore. There’s no knee socks in the doorway, a pair of silky knickers in his hamper, an extra toothbrush in the bathroom.)

“It’s nice out here,” Liam comments.

There’s a soft rhythm from Zayn’s stereo flooding from the open glass doors of the house. His fingers keep time along the railing, eyes fixed on the way their forearms brush between the treble.

Zayn sucks in another tight breath of smoke, the cherry blistering, his lips quirking around the filter. He nods, stiffens against the shiver the wind creates along his limbs.

“Yeah,” he exhales with the smoke. “It’s always so – I dunno. It’s just cool, I guess.”

“Nothing like the city though,” Liam comments.

He nudges Zayn’s ribs with an elbow, with a dumb laugh that draws up something dopey over Zayn’s face.

In the background, over Paddy’s still rumbling snores, he can hear _‘I wish I could hold my tongue cause even when I’m right, I’m wrong’_ like a siren at sea.

“S’better,” Zayn protests with a strong smile. “Calmer, dude. I keep telling you.”

“Yeah,” Liam smirks, glaring down at the way their pinkies brush. It’s nice. “You do,” he adds, sighing contently.

Zayn nudges their shoulders together, knocking some ash off before taking another drag.

“But,” Liam starts, biting soft parts of his bottom lip, “I just wish you were, like, closer, sometimes. I s’ppose. I dunno, I sound daft.”

“You don’t,” Zayn giggles, curling his ring finger around Liam’s now. “I think – like, the same, alright?”

Liam nods with flushed cheeks. Louis tells him he’s too sentimental sometimes. He holds on for too long. Harry thinks it’s romantic – his last girlfriend thought it was a bit pathetic.

He doesn’t quite know the difference.

“I like me privacy,” Zayn adds, his tongue pressed between white teeth when he smiles. He exhales the smoke from the corner of his mouth but the scent lingers right in front of Liam.

Liam nods, shrugging nonchalantly. He understands. They haven’t changed that much from seventeen year olds trying to adjust to this big world, to all of the noise and the way people pulled at them in every direction.

(And it’s always been _Zayn_ – terrified by it all. Needing somewhere to hide. A corner where everything is quiet and still and he can breathe properly.)

“But I think about it, definitely,” Zayn sighs, flicking the cigarette away.

“You do?”

Zayn’s chest expands with the last of the smoke, the heaviness of his laugh mixing with a quiet ‘a _nd there’s no one, no one like you’_ in the distance.

“Yeah,” he licks out, finally shivering. “Like, hanging out with Niall. Going down to Knightsbridge with Harry, even though we really can’t. Like visiting Lou more than once every few weeks or summat. Seeing you.”

“Seeing me?” Liam chokes out, flustered, blushing manically under the dense sky.

“Don’t be thick,” Zayn laughs. “Of course, babe. Chillin’ at your flat and watching all of the Superman films over and over.”

“Shut up,” Liam grins and his instincts are quicker than his thoughts. He curls a strong arm around Zayn’s waist, pulls him into a half-hug to protect him from the chill.

“You’d make me watch all of the Iron Man films, you twat,” he whispers, his dry lips unintentionally catching on one of the silver hoops in Zayn’s ear.

“Over and over,” Zayn repeats, snorting.

Reflexively, Liam squeezes his fingers around Zayn’s hip and he swears it’s the cold. It’s the noisy wind around them instead of a hitch in Zayn’s breathing. A stuttered sigh that Zayn nuzzles into.

(it’s a whir of newly formed winter breeze and not the _‘but New York City is so far from Santa Barbara’_ from the open doors that makes Liam cuddle Zayn just a little closer)

“Y’think we can pull it off?” Liam wonders, absently stroking a spare hand over Zayn’s back.

Zayn stops trembling, breathes hot exhales over Liam’s collarbones.

“What’s that babe?”

“Y’know,” Liam sighs, wrinkling his nose. “The whole dating thing. At the wedding. Like, d’you think people will think we’re proper into each other?”

Zayn’s shrug is small under Liam’s arm.

“S’what you want, right?”

Liam nods quickly because he does. He wants his entire family to believe this dumb lie. But he’s not certain _why_ now. It’s not – he could stand to be fixed up for a weekend. Some gorgeous girl just around his age, a university student, someone with aspirations much bigger than figuring what city they’ll be singing in next.

Someone he could carry a nice conversation with. Maybe a dance or two. A gentle goodnight kiss pressed to a warm cheek.

(but his blood goes a little cold at that thought. Pretending to care about someone he doesn’t know. Fooling himself into another lie with a girl he barely remembers.)

He doesn’t want to disappoint his mum when he tells her he’s not interested. He doesn’t want that sad frown from his father or the way his sisters will bother him until he starts dating again. Because _‘this life is much bigger than One Direction’_ Nicola always tells him.

And possibly, for a weekend, he could show them that he has it all sorted out.

With Zayn.

There’s a throb at the front of his head that he blames on the cold. The icy wind. It’s definitely not the dishonesty or trying to prove he’s fine without someone to come home to.

Because, even without the lie, he’s quite fond of coming home with Zayn and finding him in the quiet embers of this throbbing, loud city.

“Can’t hurt to try, right?” Zayn offers with a tucked head.

Liam rests his chin on the crown of Zayn’s head, grinning. “Not at all, I reckon.”

“Could be worse,” Zayn adds, already laughing. “It could be Louis.”

“It’d never be him,” Liam reassures with a stammering giggle. It sounds like a hiccup, like he’s had too much wine but Zayn joins him.

It edges off the embarrassment and Liam drowns in the lightheadedness again.

“M’glad it’s you,” Liam admits, carefully, sinking further.

They sway a little, snickering. It’s so dumb that Liam can’t think of anything better to talk about.

“You don’t mind, yeah?” Liam asks when Zayn lifts his chin. His eyes are wider than the stars overhead and Liam gets a bit lost for a moment. “The pretending?”

Liam thinks – _no_. He’s _imaging_ the wounded look Zayn shoots him because it disappears so fucking quickly. It’s an illusion. It’s a dumb, mental thought.

Zayn’s lips drift crookedly into a smile. “C’mon, dude. I’m the best kind of pretend boyfriend-y lad.”

Liam groans, pinching Zayn’s hip. “You’ve been chatting with Niall too much.”

Blush settles ruefully over Zayn’s cheeks but he doesn’t argue. He merely shrugs and pats Liam’s bum playfully.

“I’ve been told of promises about fake blowjobs,” Zayn teases under a stiff, visibly white breath. “I intend to collect, Payno.”

Liam barks a laugh, coils him arm tighter around Zayn and they shake with their giggling. They curl around each other and the world overhead is a quiet hum of _‘and there’s no one, no one like you’_ until it’s too cold to stay outside.

 

///

 

“Wait, wait. Explain it to me again,” Caroline insists, rummaging through another rack of neatly pressed suits. She holds up a vintage navy one that Liam makes a face at.

“Such a label snob,” she giggles, hanging it back up. “But again, c’mon now. You’re doing _what_?”

“This is the fourth time you’ve asked in an hour,” Zayn calls from a stall around the corner, a liter of already shrugged on suits hanging off of the door.

“Shut it, you,” she laughs, pulling out a clean white Armani blazer for Liam to admire.

Liam shrugs at it, scratching at his temple. He’s already half-dressed in another suit, the coat tossed on a pile of clothes strewn across a leather sofa, a messy row of boots and shiny shoes on the floor. His shirt is undone and he’s standing in only one sock, his trousers loose around his waist with Brooklyn knocking over a mountain of toy blokes with gurgling giggles by his ankles.

He makes another face at a cottony turtleneck she flings at him.

“Diva,” she huffs without the venom, smirking at a wooly cream jumper. “With a tie and a button-up?”

“M’not going to me nan’s seventieth birthday party in the backyard,” he laughs.

She groans, tossing the jumper in favor of a smart black suit. “Better?”

“Quite a bit,” he sighs, knocking the exhaustion off of his voice while leaning down to play at Brooklyn’s fuzzy curls. She squeals happily, staring up at him with wide eyes and a dribble-slick smile.

It’s still early into the afternoon in some studio space Caroline usually reserves for their tour wardrobe fittings. It’s a hazy Thursday, some dead space in their schedule where they’re not being drug off to places Liam will never remember for meetings and appearances and flash photography.

“So tell me,” Caroline hums, her lips quirking with her eyebrows, “you’re s’pposed to be – “

“Boyfriends,” Liam grins, lifting his chin to beam up at her. “For the weekend, at least.”

“Oi, are you gonna bin me for some bird with prettier eyes?” Zayn teases from around the corner.

Liam smirks, his nose wrinkling and his cheeks pushing crinkles around his eyes. “No, babe,” he moans, tugging on his missing sock. “But I have other commitments. I’ll never be home. You’ll get lonely.”

“We can Skype every other day, though,” Zayn says, his weak attempt at a serious voice fading away for a wheezing giggle.

Liam chews along his lower lip to suppress his smile. He ruffles his undone hair a bit, his smile going crooked and frail when he looks up at Caroline.

She’s giving him that carefully blank look she gave both of them when they gave her a ring a week ago, over FaceTime, pleading with her for outfit choices at the last minute.

“And your family is okay?” Caroline wonders, crossing her arms.

Liam tilts his head, lifting an eyebrow. “With me dating a bloke?”

“No, no,” she smirks, waving a hand at him. “With you dating _him_?”

“Hey,” Zayn calls in this wounded voice that Liam grins at.

“I’m not sorry,” Caroline smiles and the foot kicking a wall reminds Liam just how much he enjoys when Zayn has a good strop over something small.

“I mean, I guess,” Liam shrugs when Caroline shoots him a sympathetic little grin. He bites a little more nervously at his lip, flopping on the floor with Brooklyn between his legs. He helps her construct a poorly looking castle from the blokes, humming gently to her soft singing.

“You’ve told them, yeah?”

Liam winces a little. He remembers the quick text he sent his mum about it. The three voicemails that came hours later when his phone died between interviews, with his mum crying in the background while his father teasingly shouted _‘I will ground you all the way in London for these happy tears and you know how much she loves that poor bloke, why haven’t you told us sooner?’_ into the phone.

The texts from Nicola –

_‘??? ZAYN! & when were u going to tell us u like lads??’_

– and the ones from Ruth too –

 _‘thanx bro!! won me_ _£20 from nic! i knew there wuz something btween you 2!’_

He hasn’t quite decided if he loves his family or if maybe they’re just as awful as the other lads.

“Well Liam,” Caroline sighs, shoving through another rack of shirts and trousers, biting on her smile, “Your family has always been quite a bit fond of that old bugger.”

“I’m still here.”

“We know,” Caroline sings back, cackling.

Liam feels his own face bunch up with his smile. He rubs small circles into Brooklyn’s back as she huffs and snickers, pressing back into his touch. His palm is large along her spine and he remembers the quieter moments, when she was much smaller, tucked in his arms, chewing on her knuckles with saliva spilling down her lips and staining one of his shirts.

(Softer moments when Caroline was trying to wrangle Niall into a pair of skinny jeans while Brooklyn kipped on Zayn’s chest, Zayn’s messy head in Liam’s lap while he scrolled through his Twitter feed. A hand caught in that dark hair, fingers along Zayn’s scalp, Zayn humming old Chris Brown tunes to keep Brooklyn sleep.)

His thoughts sway like the ebb and flow of a morning tide, everything still a tiny placid tornado in his head. He’s not nervous. Not about the _‘meeting the family’_ part or the _‘this is Zayn, my boyfriend’_ he’s certain he’ll have to repeat over and over or even the looks he’s positive they’ll get.

It’s all a bit exciting.

But he thinks it’s the _pretending_ , the knowing it’s just for a weekend. He’s not sad about it all but there’s something uncomfortably knotted in his stomach that he can’t diagnose. It comes in doses, small and sickening.

His palms sweat and his stomach drops out. Dizzying and pathetic, he thinks.

He pushes a hand through his hair, catches the small smile Caroline flashes him when he blinks up and the _‘what have I done?’_ on his tongue falls behind his teeth when Zayn shuffles out of the stall in a half-suit with his socks sliding over the carpet.

“Dreadful?” Zayn asks, cocking his head to the side.

The sharp cut of the black trousers, the dark shirt half-buttoned with the cuffs rolled neatly to his elbows makes Zayn look – well, _beautiful_. His messy hair is mostly tugged back into a sloppy ponytail, bits of loose strands curling down to his jaw. The shadow of stubble on his jaw looks itchy but it’s _him_. Its post-modern art student on the way to a gallery show and –

Liam’s breath catches for a moment. Zayn’s standing over him with his hands shoved into his pockets, his shoulders raised like he’s waiting for Liam to speak.

Like he’s holding his last breath until Liam gives him some sort of approval.

“It’s – you look,” Liam stammers, looking away. He sniffs, the ugly stain of blush on his cheeks distracting. “You look bloody fit, man.”

Zayn nudges a few toes into Liam’s hip, his nose already crinkling with his dopey giggle.

“Shut it,” he smirks but there’s a rolling tide of pink thickening against the gold of his skin. He scratches at his scruff, blowing a quick breath to knock hair out of his face. “I look alright?”

Liam’s never been brilliant with his vocabulary and he thinks he’ll look idiotic if he tries to use one of those fancy words he’s heard Zayn say a dozen times before so he nods with a tucked chin. He blinks down at Brooklyn, trying to conceal the flush all over his skin.

“Tie or no?” Caroline offers.

“Babe?”

That placid tornado turns catastrophic so quickly. A quiet wind to a massive act of nature in his head.

He leans back on his hands to tilt his head up. His smile is a little crooked when he looks at Zayn, dragging his eyes from feet to shoulders and back down.

“No,” he mumbles, sucking in his bottom lip when Zayn gives him an abashed grin.

“Sorted then,” Caroline sighs, leaning in to fix Zayn’s collar. “I’ve got a coat to go with it, too.”

Liam pushes to his feet, scoops Brooklyn into his arms along the way. He stumbles a little, Zayn quickly reaching out to steady him with a hand on Liam’s hip. It’s soft, tender like Zayn always is when Liam three seconds from falling over

(because he’s a little more clumsier than Harry these days and Zayn is always _right there_ , like a fucking Superman. Like the Flash. His own personal superhero and that makes Liam think – _oh_.)

and his fingers squeeze kindly at Liam’s hip when he recovers.

“Thanks, mate,” Liam whispers, adjusting Brooklyn into one arm.

Zayn blinks impossibly long eyelashes, nodding, chewing at his lip. Something sweet and endearing flashes behind splintered gold eyes but it’s gone so quickly.

(like everything else – some magician’s trick that Liam can’t figure out)

Zayn keeps his hand there, this hot little ember of a connection between them. He leans in, presses a quick peck to Brooklyn’s forehead, a sideways smirk at her content sigh.

“Oi, quit it,” Caroline fusses, adjusting the sleeves of Zayn’s shirt. “Me daughter will start to think you lot are her parents. Always looking after her.”

Liam chokes on a breath, coughs into a loose fist to cover it while Zayn lets out another breathless laugh.

“We’d make a sick team,” Zayn snickers, curling an arm around Liam’s back, resting a flat palm just above the small curve of his arse. “Right, babe?”

He can’t swallow or stuff all of his unused oxygen into his lungs but –

Liam smiles at the floor, wiggling his feet on the carpet. He gives a half-shrug. His nose is already crinkling, his cheeks achy from smiling too much.

(and yes, they would be rather great at parenting – like everything else and none of it makes sense so he stops putting effort into thinking for a moment)

Caroline groans, fixing all of the buttons on Liam’s shirt she can reach with Brooklyn still clutching to him with tiny hands. “You’re not worried about getting caught?” she asks, trading looks between Liam and Zayn.

Zayn shoves an eyebrow up. “Like a sex tape?”

“No, you dolt,” she squeals, roughly smacking his shoulder. “Like by Liam’s other family? His mates? This could be a right disaster, y’know. Two bandmates pretending to date. What if someone snaps a photo of you being lovely together? A video?”

(He’s considered it more than a hundred times. It’s hovered in his head and he’s already warned Paul – a discussion he never wants to have again involving _‘so if I was snogging Zayn, would that be a bit of trouble?’_ – and a few helpful people on their PR team. He’s pleaded with Amelia over e-mail about keeping photography to a minimal without admitting Zayn will be his date. Just some standard bullshit about wanting his privacy while at a family outing but – )

“It’ll be fine,” he exhales like the words are pinning down his tongue. “Took some precautions already.”

Zayn grins. “He’s the thinker in our relationship. Bright lad, he is.”

“And you’re just around for looks?” Caroline teases.

Zayn gives his shoulders a careless lift. “Sounds right.”

Liam softly kicks Zayn’s ankle with a disapproving growl that’s half-joking, half-serious. He can’t shove down the hot flush in his cheeks when Zayn looks at him with crinkly eyes, his tongue pressed happily to this teeth. Instead, he rolls his eyes and knocks their shoulders like when they were younger.

When they were dumb.

Just before all of this talk about relationships and –

They trade fond little smiles like their words don’t need to fit here. Like they can read each other’s minds. Like Professor X from the X-Men. _Telepathy_ , he thinks. Knowing each other’s thoughts before they can think them. It’s always sort of been that way – sixteen and sharing chips at a McDonald’s. Seventeen and crawling into each other’s bunks at night.

It’s like their wires overlap naturally and everyone’s waiting for the bomb to go off if someone separates this little tangle they’ve been living in for ages now.

“You don’t think we can pull it off?” Zayn asks, turning a little towards Caroline.

He doesn’t look wounded or offended. No, he looks determined, yanking his arm from around Liam’s hips

(he doesn’t notice the absence immediately, he tells himself but, shamefully, he sort of does)

to thread his fingers between Liam’s spare ones. He gives Liam’s hand a hard squeeze, grinning cheekily at Caroline. He puts a tremendous effort into scooting closer, dropping his head to rest his temple on the round of Liam’s shoulder like those couples Liam’s seen in the streets of London.

Like in those cheesy, romantic films.

Like Liam’s last girlfriend would do with a dozen cameras aimed on them.

He stamps down the hot blush this time, tilting his head to brush dry lips over Zayn’s forehead.

Caroline snorts, crossing her arms. She rocks back on her heels with a raised brow.

“Alright, alright,” she laughs, her shoulders loosening with her pleased sigh. “Possibly. I haven’t said you wouldn’t.”

“We look lovely together,” Zayn argues, pouting.

Liam catches their reflection in a wall mirror behind Caroline. Loose pieces of Zayn’s hair fall on his broad shoulder. Their fingers fit naturally – that loose, relaxed grip he never mastered with anyone else. He’s a bit taller than Zayn, not by much. His lips still hover somewhere near Zayn’s temple and Brooklyn doesn’t squirm in his arms like she does with Harry or Louis.

Their suits nearly match, Zayn’s thumb rubbing at his knuckles and –

It’s that headrush after the second loop of a rollercoaster, seconds before another long drop and all of his thoughts keep screaming noisily in the back of his head.

“Extraordinary,” Liam breathes, blinking wide eyes at their reflection.

Zayn spares him this proud little smile that fizzles all through Liam’s veins. It’s an electric shock of fondness that Liam’s never gotten used to but it scrambles into his lungs. That quietly loud _need_ under his skin to impress Zayn.

“Okay, okay,” Caroline moans, reaching out to stuff a pacifier between Brooklyn’s lips to stop her from dragging her new teeth on her knuckles. “But if I’m being honest, it’s not you I’m worried about Liam.”

Liam lowers his brow while Zayn whines despondently next to him.

“You’re a sweetheart,” Caroline smiles before dragging her eyes over Zayn. “He’s a tart.”

“Hey,” Zayn yelps with a stiff pout he can’t manage to hold onto.

Not when Liam and Caroline share synchronized laughs, their eyes lined with soft tears, crinkling right at the corners when Zayn scoffs.

It’s a coziness deep in his marrow. He tips into Zayn, passing off Brooklyn to Caroline and this caramel-stickiness melts all over him when Zayn doesn’t bother letting his hand go. He tightens his fingers around Zayn’s until his knuckles go white and glares at the soft image in the mirror.

(And Zayn presses all of the wrinkles out of Liam’s shirt just like that – with their loose grip, their dopey grins – and Liam feels so loose, relaxed afterwards.)

(He hates himself for enjoying this more than he should but that’s another thought he can’t wrap his mind around – not yet.)

 

///

 

“Alright, who is Oliver?” Liam asks, tugging the last of Zayn’s bags onto his shoulder.

He winces a little at the weight, fumbling a grin for Zayn over his shoulder. They’ll only be gone for a weekend, a quick drive to a small village just south of Surrey, but Zayn’s three bags are overstuffed like they’re spending a month away.

(and Liam finds it amusing – Zayn never packs for a tour. He spends more time nicking clothes from Liam, sometimes Louis, than he does wearing any of his own but, somehow, the extra bags gives away all of Zayn’s nerves. His uncertainty. His need to impress someone for the next three days – Liam thinks it’s endearing. Excessive, but sweet.)

Zayn yawns noisily behind him, stretching his arms above his head. His cottony button-up rucks up, an inch of skin exposed – it’s all horribly scripted ink across his torso and a thin fuzzy trail of hair traveling from the lip of Zayn’s navel into his briefs. He flashes Liam a sleepy smile, fixing his beanie over his tousled hair.

“The groom,” Zayn replies, his grin cocking sideways when Liam nods. “Stand-up lad. Likes old jazz tunes. Madly in love with Amelia.”

“And Alfie?” Liam inquires, passing the bag to Paddy.

Paddy tosses the bag into the boot of some rented sleek black SUV – the unnecessary tinted windows, satellite radio, leather seats just a bonus Liam supposes but honestly. He wants to be a _nobody_ in Surrey. Just another face.

For a weekend, he wants to be anything but _Liam from One Direction_ –

“Amelia’s older brother,” Zayn sighs, scratching under the hem of his shirt at his belly. “Loves his whiskey. Sick cricket player.”

“And a gambler,” Liam warns with a crooked smile, reaching out to fix Zayn’s shirt. “Watch your wallet with that one.”

Zayn nods, eyes crinkling even though they’re still drowsy, heavy.

Liam bites at a frown. Zayn’s not much of a morning person – not without an hour to himself, two cigarettes, a strong cup of tea. It’s far too early for him.

The sun is still a drop of thick honey in a clear blue sky. The clouds pass like lily pads in a pond. It’s a quiet Friday, the streets surrounding Zayn’s neighborhood still flowering into life and Liam knows Zayn just wants to crawl into a bed.

(the drive to Surrey is less than an hour, hardly enough time for a proper kip but Liam knows Zayn will manage one – he finds almost anywhere for a quick lie-in, something Liam’s always sort of been fond of)

“Chloe?” Liam asks, a quick brush of fingers over Zayn’s stubble.

Zayn wrinkles his nose with a breathless giggle. “Your darling cousin who’s a little bit in love with Niall.”

“Everyone is in love with Niall,” Liam snorts. Zayn wriggles his eyebrows in agreement, skimming long fingers over Liam’s stomach for a quick tickle.

Liam barely reacts, shifting into the touch absently.

“A bit talkative, right?” Zayn wonders, tilting his head.

Liam barks out a laugh, nodding. “Stay away from that one. Eight years old and already quite the snoop. She’ll chat your ear off about her mum’s affairs.”

“Aunt Kate, yeah?” Zayn asks, his voice this scratchy roughness that Liam smirks at.

(it’s always like this – a smoky voice before a coffee, a fry-up, a cuddle with Liam or Niall or Harry because Zayn refuses to wake up without a warm body to help him along the way)

“And George?” he asks, sliding a warm hand over Zayn’s spine to lead him towards the SUV.

Zayn drags his feet, making a disapproving face at Liam. Liam presses a quick kiss to Zayn’s temple to appease him and the sharp look Paddy gives them is –

He hasn’t quite found the word to describe it but he’s seen it before. From Paul, a few times. Caroline, once or twice. Lou when she’s not too busy hollering at Louis for mucking up another one of her hairstyles.

“Family friend?” Zayn offers with pouty lips. Liam nods quickly. “Didn’t he date Nicola too?”

“A snog when they were sixteen,” Liam groans but he fumbles with a smile meant just for Zayn.

(the sun must be in their eyes, definitely, because the affection in Zayn’s eyes, the soft flutter of his eyelashes – a trick Liam has seen too often when Zayn is chatting up a bird, trying to coax a blush out of her – stealing half of Liam’s oxygen before he realizes it)

“Honestly, he’s still probably madly in love with her,” Liam adds, trying to wink but he struggles with it, blinking both eyes instead.

Zayn snickers, brushes half of the noise into Liam’s neck.

Their hips brush as they walk and, if Liam was really thinking about it, they probably look like a proper couple like this – Zayn’s shoulders under Liam’s arm. Liam’s hand resting comfortably on the small of Zayn’s back, just above the curve of his arse. Their skin day glow warm and their smiles stretching further and further every time they give each other a look. A secret language without words.

It’s a bloody brilliant thing that Liam’s not actually thinking about any of _that_ –

Not intentionally, he swears.

“Aunt Millie?” he stutters, darting his eyes from the way the sun shines off of Zayn’s.

“Loves her wine,” Zayn giggles.

“Uncle Edward?”

“Mechanic. He was married to Daisy?” Zayn whispers, his eyebrows knit together, teeth biting at his lip.

“And frequently shagging – “

“Ben, his assistant,” Zayn inserts with a wide smile, eyes squished by his cheeks. “Not Winston.”

“Definitely not Winston,” Liam laughs, brushing his thumb into that smooth slope between Zayn’s shoulder blades. “Lewis?”

“Classmate,” Zayn yawns out, brushing his cheek repeatedly along Liam’s chest. “Used to climb trees with you and Andy.”

Liam grins fondly, giving Zayn’s bum a playful pat. “I was rubbish at that. Me mum would have a proper row with me dad all of the time. All of that stuff about _‘lads will be lads’_ and what not.”

Zayn exhales a relaxed smile over Liam’s collarbone. He blinks up, the sun spitting thoughtful rays along his eyelashes, painting them a deep golden black spider web.

“Tom?” Liam asks with a quick cough, averting his eyes again.

(He doesn’t inhale a deep breath to clear his lungs, to settle his overeager heart, to stop thinking about how gentle Zayn’s cheeks look with all of the unshaven stubble)

Zayn groans, rubbing a tender hand over Liam’s stomach

(it’s so calming, a careful memory of the long days on the road and Zayn settling Liam down with just a soft rub along his belly when he overworked his vocals the night before or when he couldn’t sleep for hours after a show)

before making a face. “One of your mates. Been around a few times,” he mumbles, rolling his eyes teasingly. “Crashed me birthday party, yeah?”

“Oi. Don’t say that,” Liam argues with a put upon frown. “That means I crashed it too.”

Zayn snorts. “You were _invited_ , Li. My whole family wanted you there. Couldn’t stop talking ‘bout you for ages after ye left, yeah.”

It’s early December, the air a curtain of cold along their shoulders but Liam swears it’s too warm. It’s a heatwave and he feels it all along his cheeks, deep in his chest. The flush is immediate. He sucks in his bottom lip and stares off at the empty road to hide all of the stubborn pink along his skin.

“Wish you would’ve stuck around, mate,” Zayn shrugs, his words whispered, tossed into the low howl of a breeze.

Liam clears his throat roughly. Paddy shoots him a stern look over the hood of the truck. He can’t place the wordless glare Paddy keeps giving him or the meaning behind all of Zayn’s mumbling and that little throb at the front of his brain returns so –

“Andy?”

“Manic, mental, stubbornly fit mate,” Zayn teases.

“Hey,” Liam whines and their noses scrunch in perfect synchronization for a laugh. “Don’t go fancying my horrible looking mate over me, yeah? You’re _mine_ , ‘member?” he adds, tugging Zayn in until their chests are brushing, his hand firmly squeezing at one of Zayn’s arse cheeks, his spare hand cupping the nape of Zayn’s neck.

(Something definitely does not twitch in Liam’s jeans at the press of Zayn’s crotch along his, the unnoticeable roll of someone’s hips, the way Liam wants to grind back – even if he thinks he started all of this in the first place.)

It’s terribly distracting – Zayn’s quirked smile, the way he looks up through those long eyelashes, his hand rubbing comforting strokes along Liam’s hip.

“Of course,” Zayn mumbles, dragging his teeth haphazardly along his chapped lower lip, “All yours, babe. ‘m _your_ boyfriend, alright?”

It sounds –

(he wants to use words like _tragic_ or _disturbing_ but, truthfully, it’s so far from that and Liam must still have a few of those orangey shots from the Funky Buddha last night still in his system, that’s all)

– deliberately honest when the words flick off of Zayn’s tongue. He’s unprepared for the playful peck Zayn smacks to his cheek, the way he tugs away after a minute of too much heat.

“We’ll be late,” Paddy coughs out, shoving into the driver’s seat.

Liam blinks at Zayn, the sly slope of his crooked smile, the way his cheeks aren’t even slightly tarnished by blush like Liam’s are. He watches Zayn stumble towards the backseat, yanking open the door.

“Right, right,” he whispers, the knock of the wind drowning out his voice.

Zayn blindly reaches back, struggling a little until he finds Liam’s hand.

Liam doesn’t hesitate – he curls their fingers together, keeps the hold loose and natural.

(like bloody boyfriends would because they have an image to replicate for his family – it’s just another show and they’ve always been horrible at practiced choreography)

“What about Paddy?” Zayn asks when they fumble into the backseat together.

Liam quirks an eyebrow at Zayn, slouching down on his seat. He’s aware that their fingers are still tangled, hands resting on Liam’s thigh. He doesn’t smirk down at the sight but it makes him think of another time, with someone else’s hand, how the fit was as easy as this is.

He stops thinking and stops breathing until the sharp burn in his lungs is too much.

“What about ‘im?” he asks with a stammer.

“He needs a story too,” Zayn exhales, nudging their knees.

“I’m his bodyguard,” Paddy says into the rearview, starting up the SUV, checking his mirrors.

“Which makes you my bodyguard too,” Zayn cackles, squeezing at Liam’s hand. “But y’need a story, man. Sorta like – I mean, we’re gonna tell everyone we’re boyfriends. Dating. Properly in love and shit.”

Another quick breath, holding it in his chest until the thump of _‘properly in love’_ evaporates from the front of his thoughts.

Liam drags his thumb over Zayn’s knuckles and stares resolutely out the tinted window.

“I dunno, lads, I’m just – “

“A long lost family friend,” Liam offers, finally jostling Zayn with his elbow. A huge smile stretches along his cheeks, scrunches his eyes until Zayn’s grinning back. “Y’came ‘round just in time for the wedding. Zayn reunited you with the fam when we started dating.”

“Cheers,” Zayn nods. “Found you on Twitter.”

“Facebook,” Liam suggests, knocking their shoulders.

“Lads, please,” Paddy groans, pulling onto the quiet road towards the highway. “I’m at least worth being found on Tumblr, Christ.”

Zayn and Liam fall into each other with a laugh, heads knocking, breathy gasps for air echoing in unison. Their cheeks are freckled in pink, eyes crinkling. Paddy shakes his head in the mirror, smiling, turning up the radio.

Liam sighs happily and keeps his loose fit around Zayn’s fingers.

 

///

 

“Y’sure about this, Payno?”

The road ahead is mostly gravel now, open fields of green and a battleship grey sky overhead.

Zayn’s taken to napping on Liam’s shoulder, snoring softly, licking at his lips absently between dreams. The radio is mostly a quiet hum of Coldplay and Snow Patrol but Liam’s barely noticed anything other than –

Their hands still fit together. Sweat keeps the connection soft, damp. Their fingers flex every few minutes to keep the blood flowing. It’s like their cupping a small firefly of a world between their palms and all of the heat vibrating between their skin isn’t enough incentive to let go.

Liam swallows, staring out the window. He’s been trying to relax his breathing since London became a blue ember in his blindside. He’s fought to avoid his thoughts but –

“I dunno, Paddy,” he whispers, mostly to the window. He watches his breath fog along the glass. “I just – I mean, it’s a bit late.”

“Never too late, lad,” Paddy sighs. “I can turn us around.”

“No,” Liam says without thought. It’s habitually instinctive. “I mean – no, you don’t have’ta. I want – I can do this.”

“Y’sure?”

He steals his eyes from the window and the small houses and the village he’s only visited a few times since his childhood.

Liam glares down at their hands, the way his thumb hasn’t stopped tracing along the rough of Zayn’s knuckles since London.

“Yeah, man,” he grins, his voice soft, while Zayn yawns, shoving his warm nose to Liam’s birthmark. He can’t shake the fondness when he adds, “I’m good. Quite like this – I s’ppose it’ll be alright. He’ll help me out if I muck it up.”

Paddy hums and all of the words he doesn’t say sneak the doubt back into Liam’s bones.

He turns to look out the window again and pretending to relax feels just as heavy as the lies he’s been practicing in a mirror for a week now.

 

///

 

Liam keeps brushing sweaty palms along his trousers, biting ruthlessly along his bottom lip, trying to school his features in the rearview while Paddy drives slowly through the quiet, narrow streets in Shere.

There’s hardly any time between their arrival and the welcome lunch at a serene tea house just a few minutes from the cottage. They’ve already stopped at a petrol station to slip into something a little more _‘dressy’_ –

(though Liam is certain his family wouldn’t object to him appearing in a pair of old joggers and an oversized hoodie, he knows he still has to look the part of a pop star trying to fit in, for whatever that really means)

– and he can see Zayn grinning smugly at him through his peripheral.

“Stop it,” Liam grumbles but his lips twitch into something like a fond smile.

Zayn gives his knee a small squeeze, laughing under his breath. “You look _fine_ , mate,” he insists but Liam doesn’t believe him.

His hair is softer without the excess product Lou uses, bits of fringe habitually falling into his eyes. His scruff is a little too thick, his Oxford slightly wrinkled, his jeans a bit too casual. His fuzzy eyebrows look out of place and the sweat – _bloody fuck_ – along his brow and palms hasn’t stopped for a dozen kilometers now.

“I look awful next to you,” Liam huffs, rubbing the stain of exhaustion from his eyes.

Maybe it’s the sun in these hills, the way it peeks through all of the small buildings in the village, but Liam swears there’s something bashfully pink high on Zayn’s cheeks when he ducks his head.

He gives Zayn a playful nudge with his elbow for the fuck sake of it and waits until Zayn lifts his chin a little to brush his fingers along Zayn’s jaw.

“Bloody fit bastard,” he mocks, putting on a face for the giggle it drags out of Zayn’s lungs.

“Shut it, asshole,” Zayn whispers. There’s a layer of something quietly fond in his voice that Liam almost doesn’t recognize – not in this setting.

(maybe on the tour bus when Zayn’s too tired to expand his vocabulary and secretly pleading for a cuddle from Liam to help him fall asleep but – not like this)

Liam ignores it, absently. He tilts his lips crookedly for a smile, reaching up to fix long dark fringe behind Zayn’s ear, skimming his knuckles over the soft skin there.

“You’re gonna ruin me chances of looking like ‘m important with these good looks, mate,” Liam continues, eyes crinkling into small slits with a laugh when the blush spreads over Zayn’s nose, down his neck.

“Fuck off,” Zayn groans, shoving at Liam.

Liam follows the momentum into the door, kicking his feet, laughing manically as Zayn tries to fix his ribbed jumper.

“Don’t mock me,” Zayn pouts, pinching Liam’s calf through his jeans.

Liam puckers his lips in a teasing maneuver that stings a little crimson into the pink around Zayn’s cheeks.

“But I love you, Zaynie,” he preens and he barely notices the car stopping until Paddy reaches over the seat to sigh at them.

“All settled lads? We’re here.”

Liam goes stiff instantly. There’s a flutter of nerves over all of his muscles and his teeth fumble to bite at his lip. He swallows loudly, sits up and tries to fix his clothes again and Zayn –

He crawls over the divide, smirking. Dry lips catch right around Liam’s ear, a calm arm circling his shoulders, gentle breath like the morning tide.

“Y’look fine,” Zayn repeats and Liam can hear his stupid smile this time. “Just _relax_ , man. It’s just – it’s _us_ , okay? They’ll never know the difference and ‘m right here, alright?”

Liam sucks in a loud breath but something spreads over him that should be alarming. Disarming with how fucking enchanting it is. The roll of Zayn’s accent in his ear and a strong hand rubbing his shoulder. He turns just a little, Zayn’s nose brushing along his cheek before Zayn backs away just enough.

Their eyes meet and Liam wants to decipher all of the little meanings behind those eyelashes when Zayn blinks at him but Paddy yanks open the door and Zayn laughs like it’s nothing.

Like this is just some dumb game they’ve already played before – putting on a show for an audience of thousands or fooling Paul into believing they’re poorly so they can sneak out into some foreign city alone at night.

There’s a scattered mess of people just outside of the tea house – uncles and cousins and that dopey lad Matty, from his cross country team with his freckles and dodgy haircut and a bottle of London Pride between his skinny fingers.

Liam swallows a little quieter, pressing down the front of his shirt, dragging trembling fingers into his mussed hair. He puffs a foggy breath into the rough cold, ears already pinking. Paddy shoots him a careful smile, like he’s waiting for Liam to bail. He’s waiting for Liam to ditch all of this and beg to return to London.

Liam wrinkles his nose and he _almost does_ – he almost pleads with Paddy but –

“Liam James Payne, you glorious bastard, I’ve been waiting ages for you to get ‘ere,” Andy barks with a booming laugh and a beer in hand, arms spread wide.

The quirk of his lips is immediate. Andy is loud and overwhelming and the right amount of distraction whenever Liam feels anxious. He’s comfort in that homemade soup your mum makes when you’re sick. A cup of tea on a quiet morning. A shot of adrenaline when your blood is already afire with excitement.

He stumbles into the hug Andy yanks him into, laughing into his shoulder. It’s one of those strong hugs, back slapping and aching smiles and Andy smells so much like _home_ –

Like strongly brewed tea and the fresh air and the wintry mint Liam is overwhelmed by every time he visits the Midlands.

“You’ve been away too long, you little shit,” Andy smirks, patting Liam’s cheek roughly with his spare hand, taking a quick swig from his bottle.

Liam scratches at the nape of his neck shyly. There’s a rosiness to his cheeks from the snap of the cold, from Andy’s palm print, from the embarrassment because half of the people gathered outside are watching them now.

“You look _fit_ ,” Andy whistles, dragging his eyes over Liam, squeezing his shoulder. “Can’t say you never were but – _fuck_. I thought I was the one who was s’ppose to get better with age?”

Liam squawks a laugh, elbowing Andy. “You’ve never looked good, bro.”

“Bullshit,” Andy grins. “I’ve always pulled more birds than you.”

Liam shrugs, his smile offbeat and round, his shoulders loosening under the heavy weight of Andy’s arm.

“Now. What’s this madness and loads of bullshit your dear mum keeps feeding me about you having a date for the wedding?” Andy asks, his voice a smiling hiss, their foreheads knocking.

Liam grins bashfully, dropping his eyes. He scuffs his boots on the pebbly road, lips twitching up crookedly.

“Well – “

“Don’t tell me you’ve gone out and gotten back with – “

Liam lifts his chin just enough to frown at Andy. He hadn’t considered that maybe –

He is certain his family loved her, in their own way. The way they loved Danielle. The way they love anyone Liam is fond of – with a homemade sweetness, a gentleness, a hug and without reservations. But he thinks the attachment has faded. Ruth and Nicola don’t mention her. His mum doesn’t bother mentioning her name, even when the subject is on the tip of her tongue.

He coughs into a loose fist, dragging his tongue over his chapped lips. He’s considered all of the proper words and introductions and the put upon smile he’d give everyone every time he’s asked but Liam feels a little breathless in the moment.

“Hey, babe,” Zayn smiles, climbing out of the backseat, tugging on the hem of his jumper before striding forward quickly.

His fingers are still warm from the heater of the SUV when he quickly laces them between Liam’s. It’s _natural_ – his reaction. His reflexes. His fingers curl around Zayn’s and his thumb starts those idle strokes over Zayn’s knuckles and his heart spreads a pulsing warmth all over his skin when Zayn cocks his head playfully.

“No shit,” Andy wheezes, stumbling back some.

Zayn squeezes into his absent space, his nose wrinkling with his grin, his chin tucked onto Liam’s shoulder.

Liam flicks his eyes over Zayn, an absent tongue licking over his lips again – they’re not dry now but he doesn’t know what else to do when he _stares_ at Zayn, a little dizzy – while he absorbs all of Zayn’s warmth.

And maybe it’s the hills and the quiet grey sky over the village that makes Zayn’s eyes stand out. The rich coffee color, the soft texture. They’re glassy like shards of broken stars. His skin looks soft, sleep-warm, maybe a little paler because everything around them is washed out and dull. His hair hangs loose, haphazardly falling in his face when he moves his head the wrong way.

He’s just such a – Liam’s run out of words and that’s _disturbing_ so he stops thinking of it all.

“Mate?” Andy drags out, sounding breathless. It draws Liam’s attention away from Zayn, his shoulders pulling a little tight at the way Andy’s fingers curl around the neck of his beer bottle.

“Andy,” he says, clearing his throat. “This is – “

“Shut up, you twit,” Andy scowls, looking offended. “I know who the hell _Zayn Malik_ is. But what in the bloody fuck is – “

Zayn curves an eyebrow at Andy, squeezing Liam’s hand a little harder. Liam scratches his thumbnail along Zayn’s knuckle because –

Zayn has always been protective, over all of them. When the press is too hard on Louis or when someone mocks Harry’s voice when he loses breath between notes. He hovers over Niall at any given chance because Niall can be so _defenseless_ sometimes and – it’s always been Zayn, really.

He treats the people he cares about like family and Liam knows it. He knows in his bones that Zayn’s prepared to bark at Andy but –

“Wow, man, fuck,” Andy exhales, dragging a large hand through his hair. “You’re taking the piss. You and Zayn?”

Liam swallows, lifting their hands a little, reflexively giving Andy a nervous smile, a small nod.

“Yeah, like,” Liam starts but Andy laughs.

He wheezes out a noise like a gasp, an echoing cackle roaring from his chest, cheeks splintered pink.

“Fuck me, mate, it’s about bloody fucking time,” Andy cheers, lunging in, curling two strong arms around both of them. “I thought you’d never get your act together, mate. Like – _shit_. I’m gonna owe Mazzy fifty pounds but, yeah, I’m happy f’you. Like – I’m chuffed, man.”

His hug squeezes what’s left of the oxygen from Liam’s lungs and he can feel Zayn’s cautious smile against his cheek, the cold rub of his nose near the shell of his ear before he whispers, “Relax. I’m here, man. It’s just us.”

Liam curls an arm around Andy but he doesn’t let go of Zayn’s hand. He thinks he clenches it so tight that his knuckles go white and Zayn’s fingers start to throb.

“Fuck, wow,” Andy repeats, pulling away. “I bet all of your fans are gonna be gutted that you two are shagging – “

The uncontrollable rattle of a shameful breath in his chest makes Liam duck his head, squeeze his eyes tightly shut.

“ – but who gives a shit ‘cause Liam’s finally got it right.”

Liam quirks an eyebrow at Andy, watches the glint of something intensely smug and satisfied in his expression. He doesn’t quite understand and he wants to ask what Andy _means_ but Zayn clears his throat, smiling widely.

“Yeah, about that,” Liam stutters, shoving down his nerves when Zayn gives his hand a soft pinch, “um, the thing is – “ He’s struggling and Andy’s cocking his head at him, looking a little doubtful.

Zayn leans in, pressing his cheek to Liam’s shoulder. “It’s still sort of new,” he says, smiling thoughtfully at Liam. “We’re sort of hoping to, like, keep it a bit private right now. Just for, like, the weekend? A quiet getaway, y’know.”

Andy nods along, his smile huge. “Yeah, right. Cheers. No one ‘round here will even notice ya anyway.”

It’s mostly true – Liam’s family isn’t like the others. They’re simply proud Liam’s made it somewhere other than Wolverhampton. They don’t huddle together to see him in London or beg him for concert tickets or even bother with tweeting his name for attention.

It’s nice. It’s comforting.

“Brilliant,” Zayn smirks, batting his eyelashes at Liam.

It’s ridiculous, over-the-top in ways Liam expects Louis to be. But Zayn does it so casually, with his dopily crooked grin and his sharp cheeks and Liam can’t stop his laughter when he leans in to kiss the tip of Zayn’s nose. Just some dumb _couple-y_ thing that he thinks of but Zayn doesn’t flinch away, shoves a warm laugh into Liam’s collarbone and Liam thinks he can stay right here for a lifetime.

(with Zayn’s fingers between his and their bodies pressed together and this rabbit thump of his huge heart behind his ribs in the middle of some nameless village)

“Oh bloody hell,” Andy groans, shoving at Liam’s shoulder. “Tell me you’re not _that_ couple. I’ll get sick on the pavement.”

Zayn snickers and the flush heats up Liam’s cheeks so quickly but he doesn’t drift away. His thumb keeps outlining Zayn’s knuckles.

“Well spotted, I s’ppose,” Andy huffs, rubbing mockingly at Liam’s cheek. “Always were a bit of a lovesick pup over this one, Li, you’re so predictably – “

“He’s here! Oh goodness, he’s here.”

Liam wrinkles his face, confused. He glares at Andy for a moment, waiting for him to finish. He doesn’t, smirking, patting Liam’s shoulder in a way that’s far from condescending but a little teasing before he pulls away and Karen comes scurrying from the tea house.

She’s got crinkled eyes the way she always does when she’s too happy and on the verge of tears, open arms pointed at them. Her scarf flaps like flag in the wind, her cheeks already stained rosy like she’s had a few too many glasses of champagne.

“Mum,” he breathes, the word brushing up his throat with this certain fuzziness.

Her smile widens and he almost tugs away from Zayn to hug her but she bypasses him immediately, tossing small arms around Zayn’s neck, tugging him down into her.

“Oh bless, my love,” she coos, peppering his cheek with kisses, “I’ve missed you. I’m so – oh gosh, you’re really here.”

Zayn laughs into her shoulder with scrunched eyes.

“Hello Mrs. Payne – “

“Oh stop, you,” she whines, squeezing him tighter. “You know better. Call me mum.”

“Mum,” Zayn repeats, still laughing.

“Especially now, since Liam told him,” she huffs happily. She jerks back, scowling quickly, shaking a finger at Liam, then Zayn. “And how dare you keep this from me? I have a right to know these things.”

Zayn smiles anxiously, shrugging halfheartedly, turning a little towards Liam.

Liam smirks, rolling his eyes. “We didn’t know – we were a bit scared? We didn’t want to go mucking things up.”

His heart doesn’t speed up this time because – well, it doesn’t feel like a lie. It doesn’t taste bitter. It’s partly true, his reasoning for avoiding phone conversations with his mum and refusing to respond to his sisters’ texts. It’s just –

He still doesn’t know _if_ they can pull it off or _if_ , somehow, he’ll go and ruin it all.

But Zayn grins at him like he means it. Like Liam has all of the perfect answers. It makes him a little uncomfortable but not in that heavy way it usually does.

It’s a bit – Liam sniffs and looks down at their feet rather than considering it all.

“Oh bless,” Ruth giggles, hugging him from behind while Karen drags Zayn away, jerks him into another hug while he brushes off her tiny stream of tears. “It’s actually true.”

“ _Christ_ ,” Nicola gasps, fitting herself between them. “Mum has been going on and on but – cheers, love. I would’ve never guessed.”

“Oh c’mon,” Ruth says, her smile wavering from the constant fits of laughter, “we _both_ knew. Remember how Liam cried when Zayn was gone away from the show – “

“Oh, Christ, and how he just went on and on when Zayn left the tour,” Nicola adds.

“Don’t forget the last tour,” Andy inserts, saluting Liam with his beer.

Liam responds with a middle finger when his sisters are too caught in their own laughter to pay attention.

“Zayn has been an absolute wreck over him just as long,” Nicola teases, ruffling Liam’s already mucked hair.

Ruth nods quickly, Andy choking on a snicker. “Absolutely mad over this one,” she puts in.

He hides his face in his shoulder, shaking his head. He thinks it’s amusing – the way they’ve already got everyone fooled. Without trying much. Just fingers loosely linked as Zayn stretches awkwardly and Liam leans a little his way to keep this little electric fire of a connection between them.

Liam loves the way his sisters and Andy, even his cousins who march out for a taste of the winter breeze and a smoke, keep giving them little looks like they’re pleased.

Like, for once, Liam’s done good with his choices.

(And that overwhelming burden of _it’s all a lie, lie, lie_ doesn’t scratch as loudly but he knows it. It’s all an act. He doesn’t mind because Zayn is his best mate. You _should_ want to fall in love with your best mate and that squeezes something unspeakably weird into his chest because, well, they’re not like _that_.)

“You know we’re expecting details,” Nicola grin, patting Liam’s hip teasingly.

“Except for the sex stuff,” Ruth corrects, making a gagging face. “Not all that interested by the thought of me little brother’s incredible shags with his bandmate, no matter how bloody gorgeous Zayn is.”

His cheeks ache with the blush because, well, _they haven’t_. It’s dumb, really. This is all just a lie but just the small, unnecessary thought – the idea of him and Zayn actually shagging – leaks into his cells.

(He doesn’t wonder if Zayn would be loud in bed with him like he’s heard Zayn be with other people, through thin hotel walls after a show, or if he could get off on the idea of just running his tongue over Zayn’s cock – the way he gets off any other time just by pleasing someone else.)

(Liam shoves all of those thoughts – absolute _rubbish_ , he thinks – down into his stomach and prays his cock is fattening up because it’s been ages since he’s gotten off with _anyone_ other than his hand during a lazy morning wank.)

“Gross,” Andy scowls, slurping at his beer. “I bet their shags are incredible. Like watching fucking comets and shooting stars or summat.”

“Oi, shut it,” Nicola groans and Liam is so thankful because –

Fuck his cock sits up and stretches at the material of his trousers and he definitely shouldn’t have skipped his morning wank to drag Zayn out of bed this morning, that’s all

– his breath goes white hot and still in his lungs.

“C’mon Samuels,” Ruth sighs, hooking their arms, pulling him towards the door while Karen pinches at Zayn’s cheeks, still gushing while he laughs helplessly. “Buy me a drink.”

“Me too,” Nicola giggles like she’s already a bit pissed off of something strong.

Liam’s dad is stood in the doorway, sloshing something dark in a rock glass between his fingers, nodding at Liam. His smile gives him away – _proud_. He drags his eyes over the barely-there touches Liam and Zayn’s fingers are still creating and sighs contently and Liam –

He’s _overwhelmed_ is what it is. This feeling. This dirty little lie that he keeps showing off to everyone but he can’t bring himself to finally just let Zayn’s fingers go.

(He doesn’t know what that means either and it’s disturbing how easily he’s not even bothering to attempt to interpret anything anymore.)

 

///

 

Most of his family haven’t arrived yet. Late shifts on their jobs, waiting until Sunday for a quick drive up to view the wedding, lazing around the village before making the short drive home.

It’s just a small gathering inside of the tea house, a continuous line of toasts towards a blushing Amelia, Oliver tied around her like he’s insatiably in love. That sort of love you hear about in novels but never witness. The _smitten kind_ , his mum always says, fondly looking at his father like they still remember after all of these years.

Just a bunch of old mates, mutual friends, no one really bothering him for a picture or an autograph because they all remember him spending weekends at talent shows and wearing dodgy clothes and his voice cracking during that one school play.

But they hug him, punch his shoulder, tease him about those _‘Harry Styles curls what were you thinking Liam?’_ from a few years back.

He smiles, laughs along, buys a round of drinks because he _can_ – he could probably buy the whole damn village but he doesn’t feel the need to flaunt his money here. He has nothing to prove to any of them and he loves that they don’t demand his attention.

Liam has spent an hour with his hip propped against the bar, listening to his aunts and uncles go on about their own children, about life in Wolverhampton. They ask about London, his songwriting, touring the world and he always answers so politely, blushing, rubbing the nape of his neck.

Andy and Maz flirt through conversations with the bridesmaids, trying to drag Liam in on it but he pleads for another drink instead. They knock his shoulders, cackling, pointing at Zayn every few seconds with teasing grins like –

Like Liam’s brushing them off because he’s a gentleman. He’s happily in love. Because Zayn is across the room, being pulled into hug after hug from complete strangers with a smile for _him_.

(It’s nothing like the times when Liam visits with Zayn’s family. Liam’s family is smaller, his list of mates too. The genuine ones, at least. Nothing like when Liam quietly came to Zayn’s birthday party, looking shy and feeling warm all over anytime an aunt yanked into him their arms or a cousin high-fived him or a niece crawled into his lap to whisper something shy and giggly.)

(Liam feels so relaxed with Zayn’s family – almost like his own. The way they talk about him like he was already a _Malik_ , already a permanent fixture in Zayn’s life. An anchor for a tiny ship, maybe.)

(No, Liam’s family fawns over Zayn and blushes when he smiles and Zayn laughs it all off with scrunched eyes. They run their fingers over his wide shoulders and keep trying to steal his attention every time he looks around the room for Liam.)

He’s got a cold glass of something that stinks of aged wood, heady tartness with his head cocked back and it’s the alcohol already in his system that makes him flush all over.

It’s not that little look Zayn gives him – like _‘are you okay?’_ and _‘I miss you already’_ – because that sounds so daft in his head. Or the way Zayn bites at his lip to contain his smile when someone compliments him. And it’s not the way Zayn’s shoulders go stiff, his eyes bright stars when Liam’s aunt gushes, “Oh, bless – you’re too beautiful. My nephew is incredibly luck.”

And Zayn nods along, cheeks like the color of a Tahitian sunrise from where Liam stands. A little look, a wave over his shoulder at Liam just to keep the lie going.

Because that’s all this is – just a silly lie so Liam won’t have to field off advances from the endless list of nice girls his aunts will try to set him up with.

But Liam smiles back, nodding. A secret language. Something all their own and it’s always been that way.

He watches Karen tuck herself back into Zayn’s side, going on and on about how much she adores him – “He’s my favorite, y’know,” she repeats and Liam’s not at all jealous because his mum has always been a bit head over heels for Zayn – while Nicola and Ruth mock her from behind Zayn.

“You look bloody smashed,” Amelia hiccups, a giggle-exhale mixture parting her lips. Her ruddy lipstick is smeared from too many kisses pressed to Oliver’s cheeks, leaning over the bar with glassy eyes.

Liam snorts, shaking his head. “Just my second,” he replies, holding up his glass.

“No, no,” she snickers, swatting at his shoulders. “Not that, Leeymo. That bloody attractive man you keep staring at. You look _drunk_ on him, that’s all. It’s honestly how I get about Ollie.”

Liam crinkles his brow, palming the nape of his neck. His lips pucker, pout. He doesn’t _think_ – he’s not that amazing of an actor, right?

He’s been practicing. He’s always sort of wanted to be in films but –

“Oh,” he gasps, turning away, his skin flushed. “It’s just – I mean, yeah. Sorta. I dunno – he’s just Zayn, really.”

Amelia nods, still giggling. “Denial. It’s the first thing that happens, trust me.”

He wrinkles his brow in deep concentration, downing his drink in one quick swallow. He waves the bartender over and he needs another, he needs something to burn off this confusion.

“Soon enough,” Amelia sighs with lazy eyes, leaning on him, “you’ll be sending me a bloody invite for your own wedding. Can you imagine?”

Liam doesn’t answer her. He orders up three drinks – one for her, two more for himself – and deliberately tries to signal Andy over to be a distraction.

To keep Liam from thinking too much.

He’s gotten incredibly horrible at that – thinking. It makes him dizzy, like all of this does, and he thinks that’s an awful combination with all of stiff drinks he’s flooding his senses with.

 

///

 

The inn on the edge of the village is just some small, two-floor cozy building with a cobblestone exterior and that neat antique wood that Liam likes to skim his fingertips over. Spare wood brushed in mahogany with a chimney puffing thick clouds of grey like a dragon’s breath. It’s hardly one of those fancy hotels with massive suites and a swimming pool that they frequent on the road but Liam doesn’t mind one bit.

It reminds him of home. It reminds him of those serene daydreams he would have when he was younger.

Liam loves the coziness of the room. It’s just some en suite with a handmade duvet hanging off the foot of the bed, bare-thin curtains swaying from the partially cracked window. An old telly that flickers static over the screen when the wind howls too loudly and fluffy pillows and a vintage lamp splashing fuzzy gold along the cracks and corners of the room.

Most of the adrenaline in his blood and the buzz of the alcohol in his system has worn off. His skin feels soft, warm from the steam of the shower he snuck into while Zayn had a cigarette.

The sky outside is a clean purple, spotty stars in the distance, even quieter than he remembers Zayn’s neighborhood being.

His teeth bite softly along his bottom lip, fingers pressing into the spring mattress to watch it rebound. The bed is small, hardly a queen-sized, the pillows shoved at the headboard and the sheets folded back, waiting for him to swim in them but –

Liam blinks repeatedly, bites a little firmer along his lip.

It’s just one bed.

It’s not that he didn’t expect his mum to book him a room with _one bed_ for him and Zayn. She’s hardly modest like he expects, tossing him a wink and shoving the _‘do not disturb’_ sign over the knob before leaving them an hour ago.

(and his cheeks were burnt an embarrassing pink when Ruth whispered _‘be safe, use a condom’_ while Nicola wriggled her eyebrows at them but it’s just – )

There’s just one bed and it’s not that he and Zayn haven’t shared a bed or a sofa or a bunk before but –

Something tingles just under his skin and his arms freckle with goosebumps he doesn’t quite understand.

(his cock twitches, fattens up just a little at the thought of what his sisters were _implying_ and the way the skin of Zayn’s back looked so incredibly soft when he tugged off his jumper, stumbling towards the toilets for a shower.)

(and Liam’s seen the fantail tattoo enough times that he shouldn’t be amazed by how stunning it looks perched at the top of Zayn’s spine but he hasn’t quite gotten that image out of his head for ten minutes now so.)

Liam swallows, sighs loudly. He drags a shaking hand through his still-damp hair, pinching curling strands between his thumb and index finger. He pulls at the thick hair until he winces, garbling a groan in his throat because –

He shouldn’t be nervous at the idea of this. Sharing a bed. Holding hands. The way he’s found himself leaning into those affectionate kisses Zayn presses to his cheek whenever someone’s looking.

Because Zayn is his best mate in the whole world – something he could never admit aloud to Andy but, fuck, it’s true.

Zayn is that strong cup of coffee when Liam is too lazy and dragging his feet around. He’s those thick drops of hot water when your muscles are too sore to move away. The scent of your favorite sweater – the collision of memories that first inhale provides.

The bathroom door clicks open and Zayn stumbles out, scrubbing a towel over his dripping dark hair. Most of his stubble is shaven now, his loose joggers hanging indecently low on his hips – the strong lines of his stomach, the heart splattered on his abdomen, scribbled _‘don’t think I won’t…’_ opposite of it – and he looks a sleep-happy under the fuzzy lamp light.

“Hey,” he whispers, letting the towel hang off a shoulder, thick hair falling around his face like a veil.

Liam’s lips quirk immediately. He thinks maybe it’s something in Zayn’s drowsy, raspy voice. This uncontrollable calmness that’s always existed between them.

“Feeling alright?” Liam wonders, scratching the back of his head.

Zayn scrunches his nose with a scratchy laugh. “Brilliant,” he replies, shuffling his feet over the old carpet. “Today was alright?”

A warm, warm smile tickles Liam’s lips. “Yeah,” he breathes, leaning back, his chest expanding for a long breath. “Like, yeah. It wasn’t horrible at all.”

Zayn wiggles his eyebrows, giggling. “Could’ve been with Lou as your boyfriend, yeah?”

Liam nods immediately, laughing. The soft knock of wind outside brushes down his bare chest, across his belly. He shivers with it and Zayn’s hooded eyes are dark as he watches.

Their eyes catch, for a second, and they both look away immediately, breathing sharply.

“It was nice,” Liam whispers, focusing his eyes on all of the little cracks in the ceiling. “They really love you.”

He thinks he can hear the blush spotting Zayn’s cheeks, his eyes confirming it when he stares at Zayn.

Long fingers rub at the nape of his neck – just shy of the fantail, Liam’s certain – and Zayn digs his toes into the carpet, shrugging.

“I was just, like,” he pauses, considering as he bites at his lip, “I wanted them to know, like, you were taken care of. Not to worry about you, ‘s all. Like I wouldn’t let – “

Zayn freezes, flutters his eyes down to stare at Liam’s bare feet, at the floor. He gives another careless shrug, the last of his words wadding somewhere in his mouth.

Liam licks his tongue over his dry lips, the corners of his mouth automatically pulling upward. Selfless. It’s what Zayn always has been – with all of them. But, maybe, just a little more with Liam.

(it’s a heavy thought and it makes something fuzzily hot expand in his stomach and he never wants that feeling to stop)

He kicks a foot at Zayn’s ankle, grinning when Zayn jerks his head up. “I think they got the point,” he says, this casual float to his voice.

Zayn smirks happily. He kicks back at Liam, whispers, “Bastard.”

“Wanker,” Liam smiles, tipping his head back for a laugh when Zayn snaps the end of his towel at Liam’s knee.

When he flutters his eyes on Zayn again, he looks shy and pink from the hot shower and nervous. A saccharine lip caught between sharp white teeth. Dark hair curling around his face, half-falling in his thick eyelashes. He’s still rubbing at the nape of his neck with wide eyes and Liam thinks Zayn is a donut.

They’re both absolute idiots.

“I can, like, I c’n like get my stuff and,” Zayn starts, sighing, shuffling closer to reach for a pillow. “I c’n sleep on the floor?”

Fucking donuts, he thinks. It’s so amusing, the way they’re always sharing thoughts – like Professor X, Jean Grey even – and his skin flushes a deep pink for even bothering to consider the idea of stomping down to the lobby, demanding an extra mattress or something.

It sounds so completely daft in his mind, really. They can do this – they _have_ done this before.

His fingers circle tightly around Zayn’s stretched wrist, his thumb brushing over the bone.

“Don’t be a donut,” he says, thinks it too, smiling. “Jus’ like, c’mere.”

Zayn freezes a little, his eyes wider, his brow wrinkled.

Liam groans, rolling his eyes. He gives a polite tug, curling a leg around Zayn’s hip to add more momentum. “C’mere, babe. Like, jus’ get in bed with me.”

His voice isn’t exactly demanding but it’s encouraging, his smile still soft, the heel of his foot nudging at the back of Zayn’s thigh.

“But, like, d’you really want me to – “ Zayn huffs, sounding nervous, skeptical.

Liam barks a laugh, nodding. He finally tugs roughly, stretches along the bed and spreads his legs to catch Zayn when he stumbles onto the mattress. His spare hand squeezes at Zayn’s hip to balance him while he shoves a giggle into Zayn’s soft shoulder when he stops his fall with his hands on either side of Liam’s head.

“C’mon on now,” Liam teases, dragging his fingers up Zayn’s forearm, across his bicep. “Don’t pretend like you don’t love a good cuddle wit’ me.”

Zayn gasps, looking indignant for a moment before his face falls into a crinkled smile.

“Quite the opposite you little shit,” Zayn argues, yanking a hand up to twist one of Liam’s nipples.

Liam yelps, still laughing, little wrinkles around his eyes as he rolls them.

Zayn exhales harshly, unable to fight Liam’s strength. He tries though. He tickles fingers up the thick slats of Liam’s ribs, over his belly where his skin is most sensitive. He cages Liam’s hips with his thighs and Liam struggles back, knocking the lamp with a foot as he tries to pin Zayn.

“Bloody asshole,” Zayn wheezes, rolling his hips to try and free himself.

“Fucking donut,” Liam laughs back.

“You’re out of practice,” Zayn declares, shoving up and he manages to flip them over with little exertion on his part.

The pillows avalanche around them, the sheets wrinkling, Liam snorting while Zayn crawls up. Fingers press sharply into the skin of Liam’s wrist, leaving behind little red marks that Liam grins at. He tugs at Zayn’s joggers, snapping the elastic back until Zayn howls.

“Fucking tosser.”

“Twat,” Liam giggles, thick tears at the corners of his eyes.

They struggle some more, Zayn unable to hold Liam down, shifting his hips. Liam bends his knees, gives Zayn something to steady himself against. He smacks a playful hand over Zayn’s arse, breathless little laughs circling his chest like thick cigarette smoke.

The mattress squeaks, the headboard knocking on the wall. Their laughs echo like a strong thunderstorm, their skin cooled just enough by the wintry breeze coming through the crack of a window.

Between their heavy pants and fingers still scrambling for more skin to tickle and pinch, Zayn straddles Liam. His knees barricade Liam’s hips while his long fingers finally press Liam’s wrists above his head and –

 _Oh_.

Zayn sits back, his arse pressed over Liam’s twitching cock, a thin blanket of sweat making his skin shiny. His hair curls messily around his face and his eyes are these wide black holes looking down at Liam.

Liam swallows, cocking his head back, exposing the line of his throat. He sniffs, barely struggling under Zayn’s hands.

He watches Zayn’s chest rise and fall quickly. All of his ink shines right here, smeared with sweat, dark brushes standing out against honey skin. Teeth drag over a very pink lip and Liam catches the worry in Zayn’s eyes. The nerves finally exposed.

“Hey,” Liam says, still out of breath. “Today was good, right?”

Zayn blinks hard at him. He’s still swallowing for a breath, looking dazed. His fingers clench tightly around Liam’s wrists, digging in, and Liam winces, hisses softly before Zayn finally relaxes above him.

He nods, hair falling into his eyes. “Yeah, like. It was good.”

Liam laughs quietly, nodding back. He’s careful not to shift his hips –

(and even more careful not to think of how nice it is to have a warm body above him, pressing on his cock, the way Zayn’s bony arse still fits perfectly into his lap)

– or Zayn might feel the way his prick thickens just a little.

Because it’s been ages since Liam had a good shag. A proper wank. It’s not uncommon, he tells himself, because it happens to lads all of the time. Just some boyish teenaged hormones or summat. It’s definitely _not because of Zayn_.

He’s just a bit horny, that’s all. And it’s like this –

Zayn cautiously climbs off of Liam and they rearrange themselves over the sheets, trying to fit into the small expanse of the bed. They slide under the duvet and it’s not entirely comfortable with Liam shoved against the wall or with Zayn trying to give him space, half-hanging off of the bed.

It’s sort of amusing, really. Liam shakes his head, bites on his lip to stop a laugh. He reaches over Zayn’s broad, tense shoulders to click off the light. He sneaks his arm around Zayn, dragging him back, pressing his face into Zayn’s damp hair.

Liam waits a moment, half-wonders if Zayn is going to crawl out of bed. Maybe he’ll run. Or ask the front desk for a spare room because this isn’t new but it’s _different_.

It’s _nice_ , he thinks.

He feels Zayn’s muscles relax, the soft and quiet shuffle before Zayn’s spine is pressed to Liam’s chest. Their legs twine under the duvet, feet brushing haphazardly as they fluff pillows, adjust their shoulders.

Soft, long hair tickles the tip of Liam’s nose. He can smell the sandalwood soap, closes his eyes to breathe it in. His flattens a hand over Zayn’s stomach, fingers fluttering when Zayn inhales.

“G’night,” he whispers, breathing the words along the nape of Zayn’s neck until he shivers with a giggle.

He’s knackered. Too much alcohol, too much thinking, too much – _everything_. His eyes are too heavy to keep open, chapped lips catching on Zayn’s skin when he snuggles into him.

He loves the warmth of Zayn’s skin and he remembers _this_ – sleeping with someone else. Spooning. A proper cuddle to settle all of his thoughts.

(he remembers the scent of perfume instead of citrus shampoo but this – this feels just as brilliant, he swears)

Liam is seconds from finally dozing off when a hand reaches up and back, cupping the back of his skull. Lazy fingers drag over his scalp, repeated circles until Liam never wants the touch to go away.

(He’s too sleepy to think properly, he knows it. Because this touch will go away when they’re back in London. This is just for a moment but no one else is around so Liam skims his lips over a snake tattoo and falls a little in love with Zayn’s soft breathing in the dark.)

He’s floating, caught between reality and a dream, when Zayn whispers, “g’night, babe. Thank you.”

It doesn’t sound forced. It sounds vulnerable, the way Zayn is when he’s nervous about using his falsetto. The way he looks just before Liam encourages him with a dopey grin, a soft squeeze to Zayn’s shoulder.

(It sounds like rubbish in his mind and it’s just a dream, he thinks.)

 

///

 

(And halfway through the night, when Zayn turns in his arms, snuffles his face to the crook under Liam’s jaw while Liam tightens his arms around Zayn’s waist just to keep him there – he thinks it feels like a hallucination. He spreads his fingers along Zayn’s spine, drags his lips over Zayn’s hairline and freefalls into the illusion.)

 

///

 

His vision is still a little fuzzy, his skin warm and buzzing when he stumbles down into the café-sized dining area next to the lobby. He shuffles his socks over the expensive carpet, scrubbing a hand through his bedhair with a drowsy smile for his sisters, a quick peck to his mum’s cheek, a smack to Andy’s shoulder before his dad draws him into their first real hug since he arrived.

He loves the way his dad always smells like woodsy cologne and minty aftershave and something namelessly warm. He buries his nose in his father’s collar and welcomes the clap on his back, the _‘good job boy’_ Geoff habitually attaches to their hugs.

“Rough night?” Nicola teases when Liam drops into an empty chair. He squints at the insinuation in her voice and then –

Yeah. _Wow_.

Ruth giggles into her hand and Andy’s already shooting him this playful smirk, the smug bastard. Nicola is rocking back and forth in her chair until it squeaks loudly, Ruth making these breathy noises while Andy keeps shoving his tongue into the inside of his cheek to make the skin stretch outwards like –

 _Absolute assholes_ , he thinks, his cheeks fever hot.

He can’t duck his head fast enough to hide all of the blush but he kicks Nicola’s ankle under the table, pouting.

“Oh stop it you three,” Karen scolds but she’s grinning too and Liam swears the world has never been on his side.

Not the lads. Not his family. Only Zayn –

(the tingle in his arm, the slow circulation of blood into his forearm from being trapped under Zayn’s head all night, his fingers still a little numb from routinely scratching over Zayn’s back to settle him back to sleep after a drowsy stumble to the toilets for a leak during the night, reminds him of what he’s left behind in their hotel room.)

(A sleeping Zayn, snoring softly, curled around a pillow, smiling. Dry pink lips quirked, soft tan skin, dark hair spilling everywhere over Liam’s pillow.)

And he remembers it just like this –

Standing in the middle of a foreign room, rubbing the nape of his neck, scratching at his belly. He can’t look away from Zayn, the sharp features of his face so gentle under the crawl of a tangerine sun through their window. A foot kicked from under the blankets, the bolt tattoo etched into Zayn’s ankle a little faded but still there. A hand splayed over the warm spot Liam left behind in the bed. The curve of his spine, the gentle swell of his small arse, the –

Liam remembers inhaling a quick breath, holding it in his lungs before fumbling into a cozy hoodie and pajama bottoms with a tartan design. He remembers tugging on socks, tiptoeing to the bed, curiously.

His fingers fixing hair behind Zayn’s ear, a nervous peck pressed to Zayn’s temple, jerking back quickly like _he shouldn’t_. Like the touch burned in the worst way. Rubbing calloused fingers along his own lips to smear away the feeling but –

It stuck and Liam waited until he was in the lift to adjust his morning stiffy, groaning, thudding his head against the wall until he could stop thinking.

(until he could stop smiling, too.)

His mum shoves a cup of strong dark coffee at him, winking. Geoff chuckles lowly, spreading butter on his burnt toast while Andy salutes him with a glass of orange juice. He grumbles into the cup and lowers his head, ignoring all of them.

He hates them too – not entirely, but still.

Liam has forgotten how breathtaking the view of the countryside is from here – too many nights on tour buses, days in strange hotel rooms, always under the colorful collision of city’s lights overhead. He leans back in his chair, rubbing at his stomach, slurping his coffee.

The world outside of the massive window by their table looks so serene. He swallows, watches the grass sway back and forth, stone white clouds tossed into the perfectly blue sea of a sky. The sun anchors light everywhere. Barren trees stacked wildly into a jagged line. Like the mark on Harry Potter’s head, he thinks, laughing gently into his coffee.

Hills reach high into the air and everything is green and smeared cobalt in the background.

It’s these small, meaningless things that he’s almost lost track of.

He misses it.

There’s a moment, between a drink of coffee and a mouthful of still hot fry-up, where the sun glides over their table and flicks soft gold all over the small room. A moment where Liam is wholly distracted by some conversation about the holidays and Liam spending them at home again when –

Zayn staggers into the room with a sleepily shy grin on his pink lips. His skin is still washed with that softness from exhaustion, most of his hair tugged back into a sharp ponytail. There’s a faint shadow from morning stubble – the kind that comes from sketching lightly with the tip of a pencil – and he’s wearing a Henley with the sleeves pulled over his knuckles and a stolen pair of Liam’s ratty, holey joggers –

And Liam immediately notices, out the corner of his eye, the way his mum beams at the sight and Ruth wolf-whistles while Nicola snickers. He thinks to comment, to scold them just because he and Zayn are _just mates_ but –

Zayn strides all the way up to him, sighing contently before leaning down and –

It’s not their first kiss

(that was years ago, fumbling around, playfully fighting and rolling around on a lumpy bed and their lips colliding for a brief, sloppy snog that neither of them ever bring up – not anymore)

But Liam thinks it’s the sort of kiss he’ll remember. A different sort of first.

Zayn’s lips are smooth, a little wet, pliant. They rub anxiously over Liam’s and his own mouth parts for a breath before Zayn drops a warm hand on the nape of his neck, keeping Liam there. It’s not _smoldering_ or the sort of kiss Liam thinks about in films but it’s –

It’s the kind of first kiss he hasn’t had in too long. The fond kind, where Zayn is smiling into it, brushing his lips just enough that Liam can feel the swollen pressure and he can taste Zayn’s toothpaste and he can’t react properly.

He shivers and tucks a hand around Zayn’s hip for a moment because they’re pulling apart and Liam needs a connection.

Electricity needs a current and he slides his thumb under the hem of the Henley to press into Zayn’s skin.

“Alright?” Zayn whispers, lifting his brow.

They’re still so close and Liam knows his family is watching. He can feel their eyes on them but he can’t clear his vision.

He only sees Zayn, right here, too close, breathing soft exhales over Liam’s face.

“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbles back, dragging his hand up. He curls his fingers around the back of Zayn’s neck, squeezing a little too roughly, but Zayn grins and it’s only because his family is watching –

It’s only because they’re meant to look like boyfriends that he drags Zayn down into another kiss.

He tilts his head a little, eyelashes fluttering against Zayn’s. His lips slip open, his tongue flicks over Zayn’s bottom lip, and he crowds a groan deep into his chest when Zayn kisses back enthusiastically.

(and it’s _better_ this time, their lips synchronized, the manic pound of Liam’s heart in his ears louder)

Zayn giggles against his mouth, shortening the kiss. Liam sucks softly at Zayn’s bottom lip, something he’s done with girls before.

Girls he’s been intimate with, expressed his affection for loudly. Girls he’s been _in love with_ and wait –

Zayn pulls back, cocking his head, wrinkling his nose with his breathy laugh.

“Good morning,” he mutters.

Liam’s barely noticed Zayn’s thumb stroking his jaw or the careful squeeze Zayn’s other hand gives his shoulder but he almost whines pitifully when Zayn drops his hands away, stumbles back some. Instead, he watches the full sunlight shine in Zayn’s eyes – they’re like crystallized fire now, melting amber and quite beautiful – and his tongue licks at his lips like he’s cleaning the taste of Liam’s kiss from them.

(or _savoring it_ but that’s so unmistakably daft that Liam wants to frown)

“ _Christ_ , all of that noise last night and now – “

Karen swats Nicola’s shoulder and Ruth barks out a laugh, rosy cheeks shoving crinkles around the corners of her eyes.

(Liam flushes crimson. He can’t help it. He filters through his sister’s words and thinks of last night – their giggling, rolling around the bed, a hand smacking the headboard against the wall, the squeak of the cheap mattress and –

Fucking hell.)

He sighs, an unsteady breath crossing his lips while Andy catcalls, smacking a hand on the table when Zayn’s skin starts to pink. He ignores all of their dumb laughter, the way his mum blushes and giggles, his father hiding his face behind a newspaper and shrugs out of his chair.

Liam skims a hand down the small of Zayn’s back, resting over the dimples, smiling softly.

“They’re just jealous,” Liam teases, loudly, narrowing his eyes at his family – Andy too – for a moment before turning back to Zayn.

Zayn snorts, nodding. He still looks flustered, absently chewing his bottom lip raw.

“C’mon,” Liam says, pressing at Zayn’s back, pulling the empty chair next to him out for Zayn, “a quick brekky and then maybe a kip before lunch?”

Zayn looks sheepish but he follows the pressure of Liam’s hand, dropping down into the chair next to Andy. He smiles down at his lap, lower lip still between his teeth.

“Bloody hell,” Ruth sighs, watching Liam fix Zayn a cup of coffee the way he likes –

It’s not strange or weird. They all know how they like their coffee, how they want their tea prepared. Zayn knows Liam wants three sugars and Liam knows Louis craves Starbucks whenever they’re in America or how Harry is absolutely mad over herbal tea now – the traitor – and Niall destroys his coffee with a healthy amount of cream to dilute the bitter taste –

before she cocks her head at them. “It’s really beautiful, innit? How much he loves you.”

Zayn jerks his head up with huge eyes and Liam settles back into his own chair, dropping an arm on the back of Zayn’s chair, rubbing unconsciously at his shoulder.

“Excuse me?” Liam chokes, Zayn breathing a little harshly.

“Oh, stop,” Karen fusses, her giggle a bit annoying to Liam’s ears now, “Ignore her. C’mon, eat up. There’s loads going on today, including hens and stags this evening.”

Andy wolfs out a noise, thrusting a fist into the air. “It’s gonna be bloody wicked.”

Ruth rolls her eyes at him, stealing his leftover greasy bacon. “Please,” she sighs, “you lot aren’t gonna do anything but get stupidly drunk chatting about all of the girls that broke your hearts.”

“The hearts _we_ broke,” Andy grins, reaching behind Zayn to smack at Liam’s forearm. “Right, lads?”

Zayn ducks his head, chuckling. Liam looks away, biting at a frown because –

He’s never really broke a heart. Not loudly like Andy has or with a casualness like Zayn has. It’s always been a quiet ending, a mutual understanding, a girl whispering that he’s a lovely person but just not the right one.

“Just as long as you lot get Oliver to the church on time tomorrow,” Karen warns, her stern voice giving away to a grin when Zayn nods at her.

“Wouldn’t think of ruining a perfect wedding,” Zayn promises.

That little itch, a tremor, at the corner of Liam’s mouth teases a smile out of him. His hand keeps thoughtlessly rubbing little circles into Zayn’s arm and he’s a bit lost on Zayn’s soft features for a moment.

(It’s just a moment because he remembers this is all an act. Zayn is bloody brilliant in his role. He’s got all of them eating out of his hand and Liam thinks – )

“Rubbish,” Andy groans, tossing a half-eaten toast at them. “We will drink our weight in ale and show this little village the bunch of rebels we are.”

Liam cocks his head back for a laugh. Andy is, always has been, a bit overdramatic. He reminds Liam of Louis, his understated affection for a good time always overlooked by his raucous behavior and foul mouth.

“Sounds fun,” Zayn shrugs, smirking. “I’m in for it.”

“In for a penny,” Andy grins around Zayn, pinching Liam’s hand.

“In for a pound,” Liam finishes, still giggling.

Nicola and Ruth moan together, tossing their cloth napkins at them while Karen tilts her head, smiling at the three of them like she has a _trio of sons_ rather than just Liam.

“Keep ‘em in line, Zayn,” Geoff says mockingly, shaking a finger at Andy and Liam. Zayn sheepishly nods back, tucks his head onto Liam’s shoulder and Geoff sucks in a deep breath, his chest puffed out proudly. “Always so bloody good when it comes to the boy. Top lad, Zaynie.”

Liam slouches in his chair with an abashed expression. That lingering stare his father gives him, gives both of them –

He can’t read what it means, even if Liam tries so hard, so he looks down at the table. He watches Zayn’s hand crawl the small distance to slide beneath Liam’s, their soft palms kissing. Their fingers lacing together reflexively.

(they’ve done that before, too, during Zayn’s first real flight and after their first concert at Madison Square Garden and during the last tour, when Zayn was homesick)

Liam squeezes around Zayn’s long fingers because – well, he thinks it’s right. It’s what he’d do if Zayn was, like, a proper boyfriend. _His boyfriend_.

(the thought scares Liam but it delights him too, when he’s not thinking too hard – the idea of a boyfriend, a university lad with paint under his nails and heavy textbooks and coffees at midnight with a warm body underneath Liam’s on a tattered sofa, dark hair twisted between Liam’s fingers)

Zayn smiles down at their hands, fluttering long eyelashes on his cheeks.

Liam leans in, smothers a stupidly loud kiss to the heat at the core of Zayn’s cheek.

“Gross,” Ruth scoffs, kicking Liam’s ankle under the table.

“Oi, save the sugar for your cuppa, you brat,” Nicola adds but she’s smirking, a teasing little glint to her eyes like –

Like they’re _enjoying_ this. Secretly, they’re sort of in love with their younger brother looking so madly in love with a boy he’s spent most of the past few years leaning on for a quiet strength. For a calm. For a good laugh and a stack of comic books and –

“You two,” Karen sighs, squeezing Liam’s father hand on the table – a matching set of hands on opposite ends of the table. “So lovely.”

Liam’s sweating, struggling to swallow. He’s incredulous. His tongue is too heavy to reply, his hoodie suddenly too hot. This is not – it’s _fake_. It’s just some dumb display of affection, something he and Zayn have probably done more times than he’s counted but right here it’s –

He finally swallows, tries to relax when Zayn leans his head on Liam’s shoulder with a secret smile that screams –

Liam doesn’t know _what_. Or _why_. He tries not to think about it, sipping at his warm coffee, taking large bites of toast to keep himself from saying something daft. But he keeps their fingers twined like ivy crawling up a brick wall and doesn’t bother to think of anything else.

 

///

 

They’re a little less shy when they’re back in their hotel room.

There’s no eyes on them now, stupid comments analyzing their every action, watching each of their moves, but they’re stay so close to each other. Like they always have. Like (Liam hopes) they always will, actually.

But Liam still flushes when Zayn smirks, drags his sleepy eyes over Liam.

He wrecks his already fucked hair with his fingers before tugging on the hem of his hoodie, pulling it off. Zayn joins him, dropping his Henley on the floor, laughing meekly when Liam slaps a sweaty palm over his eyes to cover them.

He peeks through his fingers to tease Zayn, sucks in a shallow breath at Zayn’s bare chest and all of the dark tattoos, the strong muscles Zayn always keeps hidden – too shy when there’s too many people around, Liam supposes.

“You dumb twit,” Zayn snickers, rolling his eyes.

Liam drops his hand away, fakes a frown while shoving at Zayn’s shoulder. “Arsehole,” he grumbles but his lips can’t hold the grimace when Zayn’s eyes start to crinkle.

Instead, he watches Zayn crawl onto the bed and he follows with a little less hesitation this time.

(he climbs over Zayn’s hips, their thighs brushing, Zayn sucking in his bottom lip like he’s trying to play up to this shy awkwardness they’re not commenting on)

“Try not t’ snore this time, you git,” Liam mocks because this live wire tension between them –

(It’s bright like neon and loud like a marching band and Liam feels so wound up about it – )

makes Liam uncomfortable.

Zayn scoffs, elbowing Liam in the chest. “Sod off,” he laughs, stealing two pillows, fluffing them before dropping his head down. “And stop kicking me in y’sleep, yeah?”

Liam nudges a foot roughly to Zayn’s calf for the fuck of it, giggling, reflexively sliding an arm around Zayn’s hip, a hand low on his belly. Calloused fingers brushing along the dark trail of hair extending under Zayn’s navel.

He can hear Zayn swallow and he waits patiently until Zayn relaxes, nuzzles back, allows Liam’s warm lips to absently rub at the nape of his neck.

They only last minutes, still a little uneasy this close, legs tangled, before Zayn flips over, face to face. Errant breaths stretch between them with heavy eyes, lips refusing to smile now.

“Um,” Liam starts, licking at his dry lips.

Zayn snorts, sighs something paralyzing before he scoots forward, their noses brushing back and forth.

“You’re stupid,” he mumbles, shutting his eyes, ducking his head to press his face into the caramel spot of a birthmark on Liam’s neck.

And Zayn breathes evenly until Liam settles into this position – with their chests together, with his hand idly stroking Zayn’s hip, an arm trapped under his head again.

It’s so familiar – like bus rides and sleeping on the floor of airports and crowding onto a small settee for a quick kip between interviews – that Liam almost misses Zayn whispering, “Should I – like. I c’n turn back over and, like, I could let you have a lie-in while I – “

Liam strangles an awkward noise in his throat, knocking his chin against Zayn’s forehead.

“Shut up, you,” he hisses, nudging in, his thigh between Zayn’s knees, his hand soft along Zayn’s bare back. “This isn’t – we’ve been like this before, right?”

Zayn gives him a shy, small nod.

“Never had a problem before, yeah?”

“Nope,” Zayn whispers, his eyelashes tickling Liam’s neck.

“And I’m a much better cuddle than Harry, yeah?”

Zayn pauses on a breath and Liam tilts his head down, frowning, just before Zayn shakes with laughter in his arms.

“Fucking tosser,” Liam mumbles, fighting against his smile.

Zayn’s lips, soft and chapped at the same time, drag on Liam’s neck when he mutters, “Go t’ sleep, you donut. Don’t wan’ you dragging around tonight when we wreck this town.”

Liam snorts. He flexes his fingers to keep the blood surging through the arm shoved under Zayn’s head and he’s too drowsy to think of the way Zayn’s mouth feels against the skin of his neck.

 

///

 

“Oi, Charlie, another round for the poor lovesick Ollie marrying the bird he loves,” Andy calls, his words a bit slurred and loud as he calls over the bartender, “and for me lads here – the bunch of tossers they ‘re.”

Liam grins around the lip of his beer bottle, Maz thumping an open palm on the bar, a wild howl and a laugh as Andy grins ruthlessly.

“Amelia is going to kill me,” Oliver hiccups, slumped over on his stool.

“Oi, shut the fuck up, you sod,” Andy scoffs, finishing the last of his own beer. “She’s madly in love with you – “

Liam and Maz nod together, cackling.

“ – and you’re a complete wanker over ‘er too,” Andy adds.

Liam shoots Maz a knowing grin and Maz is already wriggling his eyebrows.

“So here’s to your beautiful wife,” Andy salutes with a fresh shot glass, amber liquid spilling over his fingertips. He clumsily passes the rest around, fresh hands reaching in before raising up the glasses, a waterfall of bitter bourbon splashing down over Oliver’s mussed hair.

“May she murder you with a proper shag on your honeymoon,” Andy smirks and the chorus of hiccupping laughs around them warms something affectionate in Liam’s blood.

He gasps at the burn when he slams the empty glass on the grainy wood of the bar. He thumps his chest at the cheap flavor, makes a face at Andy, shaking his head.

“Awful, bro,” he mumbles, chasing the taste with another beer.

Andy shrugs carelessly, stealing the last of Oliver’s shot as he stumbles off his stool towards the loos, looking pale and sweaty. His mouth slides crookedly into a massive grin that Liam mimics, crinkled eyes and a sober gleam to his expression, something Andy can’t quite replicate –

Because he’s down flaming shots and a few too many beers already and Liam’s been too distracted watching the hurricane of lads joining him, laughing loudly and bumping fists after every new drink, to bother catching up.

“Y’must feel pretty damn lucky,” Andy laugh-shouts, fumbling between Liam and Maz, tossing an arm around their shoulders.

He’s grinning at Liam, damp hair constantly falling on his forehead, sweat sticking his shirt to his chest. He waggles his thick eyebrows at Liam, tugging Maz a little closer until Liam can see the stupid grin on Maz’s lips.

“Falling in love with your best mate,” Andy finishes before Liam can ask and –

_Wow. Yeah._

Liam’s shoulders tense a little under Andy’s heavy arm. He pokes happily at hollows between Andy’s ribs, glaring down at the bottle cap littered hardwood floor.

“Yeah, I mean,” Liam sighs. “Y’know, you two are still, like, you’re my – “

“Oh fuck off,” Andy laughs, dragging rough fingers over Liam’s snapback. “We know, we know, bro. We’re always gonna be your top lads.”

“Wolves, baby,” Maz adds, giggling obnoxiously. “But c’mon, like. He’s been around for _ages_. We get it. Those four blokes ‘ave been y’life.”

Andy nods with large, glassy eyes, a drunken pirate smile. Liam shrugs, biting on his lip.

(They’ve never said it to each other – the three of them – and Andy’s never been acutely _jealous_ of the other lads. He’s never admitted it but Liam’s always felt a bit guilty. Like he’s left Andy behind. Like traveling the world with four other lads, living out all of his dreams, is something he should’ve been doing with Andy by his side.)

(But Andy’s never said it or had a proper strop about it or even tried to make Liam feel awful about it and Liam wonders – he loves Andy for it, honestly.)

“It’s cool, bro,” Andy adds, a choked laugh roaring in his chest. “Malik looks after ya. I couldn’t ask f’r more of the wanker. He’s your best mate.”

“You are too,” Liam whispers, biting over his frown, dragging his boot over the dirty hardwood.

Andy smiles, palming the back of Liam’s neck. “Enough of that,” he scoffs playfully. “S’nice seeing you properly in love again. With a bloody ace bro, too.”

“Least ‘s not you, right?” Maz teases, smacking at Andy’s chest.

“It should’ve been,” Andy argues, trying to look wounded when Liam lifts his head. “I’ve put up with this miserable arsehole’s mad obsession with Zayner since – “

“Have not,” Liam squeaks immediately, blush bubbling from his cheeks to his chest.

And he doesn’t know _why_ , is the problem. It’s not like they are really –

Liam drags a slow tongue over his chapped lips, staring off to a corner of the pub. Zayn is cheering softly while playing a sloppy game of beer pong with a few of the groomsmen. His hair is slicked into a ponytail, a loose Oxford hanging off his shoulders –

(It looks weirdly like one of Liam’s but they got dressed separately and Liam hasn’t bothered asking and, well, he sort of _likes_ the idea of Zayn maybe nicking one of his shirts. Loves the idea, truthfully, but that seems a bit heavy and fairly daft so)

– with a pink tongue between his teeth every time he goes for another bounce of the ball.

He misses, of course, but he grins shyly when someone stuffs another glass between his slender fingers. Zayn giggles while he chugs, excess froth slipping down his chin, over his evening scruff. He scrubs the back of his wrist over his pink mouth, slicking an artificial shine on his mehndi design.

Liam rubs at his own stubble –

(and _fuck_ , he thinks of the way Zayn always does that. The way he does it to Zayn – their own little affectionate trade off that’s supposed to mean nothing but, secretly, the little brush of fingertips over bristly hair calms them both when no one else can)

– and feels the slow acceleration of his pulse in his veins when Zayn looks up, giving Liam a tiny abashed grin.

“Oh Christ, bro,” Andy groans, shaking Liam with his laugh. “It’s like – fucking lovebirds, c’mon.”

Liam drops his chin, wrinkling his face. The stain of blush leaves him hot, the alcohol making everything warmer under his skin.

“It’s pretty perfect,” Andy whisper-shouts, nicking Liam’s beer from his fingers. He tosses his head back for a swig, shrugging awkwardly with his arms still around Maz and Liam.

Liam quirks an eyebrow, his mouth rounding.

“Falling for a bloke you’ve been hung ‘round for years,” Andy finishes.

“Obnoxious,” Maz snickers. “Just off and fell in love with ‘im. Gross.”

“Cheers,” Andy smiles, swallowing a mouthful of beer.

Liam wrinkles his brow, pouting, but Maz leans in with hooded eyes, a messy smile meant just for Liam before he adds, “He just gets you, Payner. It’s mental, man.”

He clucks his tongue at Maz, an awful stain of pink high on his cheeks as he tugs away. There’s a mess of words on his lips – a series of _‘bullocks you blokes are idiots he’s just Zayn alright?’_ – that never quite make it out when he spots Zayn stumbling up with a wide grin tucked around the end of a cigarette.

“C’n y’ believe he gets to shag this one?” Andy teases, tripping sideways to make room for Zayn. “M’not jealous or anything, but – _fuck_.”

“Bloody asshole,” Max laughs while Zayn flushes a soft carnation under the dusty yellow lights of the bar.

He hip-checks Liam, curling an arm around his spine, kneading gentle fingers to the dip low on Liam’s back. Spare fingers spark the flame of his lighter, shallow puffs making the orangey cherry glow like a tiny supernova.

Liam is a little in awe – _dizzy_ , he thinks, smiling to himself – of how bright Zayn’s eyes are behind the slow curl of smoke exhaled from his mouth. Fingers rub tender circles into his back, his own curling under Zayn’s chin, knocking it up.

Zayn looks up through long eyelashes, still smiling loosely around the cigarette tucked between his teeth. He sniffs, a shy little shrug to compliment his silence, the roar of old Beatles tunes in the background and –

Liam drags lazy shapes over Zayn’s scruffy chin before – he can’t help himself. He just – fuck.

He trails his mouth over Zayn’s when he lowers the cigarette. It’s meant to be gentle but he just can’t because – _wow_. He cups Zayn’s chin, tugging down a little until Zayn’s mouth opens and he kisses him. He smothers chapped lips and inhales the sweet burn of Zayn’s smoke. He curls his tongue softly until Zayn whines just a little –

It’s just some dumb kiss, he thinks. He’s just trying to prove a point. Putting on a show for the lads, really. Just a reminder to all of them that _this is real_ – but it’s not.

(And none of that makes sense because he keeps kissing Zayn until his lungs fill with Zayn’s leftover smoke and Zayn’s lips go a little swollen from the rough press of Liam’s mouth.)

He curls his free fingers around Zayn’s narrow hip for a grip, for something else to concentrate on. He smiles around Zayn’s tongue when it flicks into his mouth, trying not to laugh –

(trying not to feel so lightheaded and dizzy, but – )

There’s a fuzzy spill of wolf whistling, catcalls, obscenely dirty things shouted at them that makes him giggle against Zayn’s mouth. Just a few more bruising kisses before he pulls off – a reminder, a _memory_ , he thinks – and the lighting is shit in the pub but he thinks, behind Zayn’s eyelashes, there’s a certain kind of wonder he’ll never be able to name ( _not yet_ ) that he likes.

Liam tips his head back to finally blow out the dry fog of grey smoke from his lips. His mouth twitches into a smug grin. His hand reaches to drag the back of his fingers along Zayn’s sharp cheekbone, just for show, just for the groaning reaction he gets from his mates.

“Smooth Payner,” Maz grins.

“I’m gonna get sick all over the bar,” Andy moans, stretching to knock a weak punch against Zayn’s shoulder. “Bloody tossers.”

Liam can’t escape the little burning coal of pride deep in his chest. He curls his fingers around the nape of Zayn’s neck, shrugging.

“Horrible,” Andy wheezes. “Horrible, horrible best mates you are.”

Maz chokes on a laugh. “Part of the family now, Zayner.”

Liam leans back into Zayn’s hand and drags his eyes over Zayn’s face, slowly. There’s a hazy awe in his eyes, his chest heaving from the kiss, maybe, not the smoke.

He’s biting down on his lip, cigarette forgotten, before he laughs, “’s that for?”

Liam sucks on his swollen bottom lip – it tastes like Zayn, all caramel and sour beer and salty chips – before shrugging casually again. His mouth quirks before it slides sideways. He makes a motion with his head to all of the eyes on them.

His arm drops around Zayn’s square shoulders, tugging him in. “Can’t a lad snog the boy he loves?” he wonders, trying to sound ruthlessly cool and calm – even if he’s not. He says it like a joke but that fiery curl in his stomach burns off all of the humor.

Andy and Maz snort behind Zayn, raising their fists and beers in solidarity. Liam rolls his eyes, wrinkling his nose with a quiet brush of laughter.

Zayn blinks at him for a moment and it’s the first time Liam’s really thought about it – the kiss.

The lingering brush of their lips and the slow curl of his tongue in Zayn’s mouth and the rough breathing from their lungs afterwards. Maybe he’s a bit drunk. His mind is too foggy and he shouldn’t’ve kissed Zayn. Not like _that_. It was too much but –

“Oi, shove it,” Zayn laughs, leaning into him, knocking their hips. “You’re such a sappy laddy,” he teases, pink lips swollen and stretched. He pats at Liam’s belly, brushing his head to Liam’s shoulder.

A breathy exhale escapes his lips and Liam hadn’t realized he wasn’t breathing. But he keeps a strong hand low on Zayn’s hip, drumming out a lazy beat to Kings of Leon in the background –

(he whispers, in a gentle tenor, most of the words and mashes a quick peck to Zayn’s temple on the _‘hot as a fever rattling bones I could just taste it’_ in his ears, his tongue absently skimming his lips to collect the last of Zayn’s flavor there)

“Fucking lovebirds,” Andy repeats, lips quirked around his new beer, a soft crinkle around his eyes like he’s happy for Liam.

Liam looks away quickly. He can’t breathe and the fuzzy static in his head keeps reminding him that none of this is actually real.

 

///

 

The night feels fresh over him.

It’s that bittersweet cold that tickles the tip of his nose, leaves his fingers more than a little numb when they’re not shoved in his pockets. The moon sits full overhead, shining a dull glaze over the narrow roads to counter the amber spotlights of the street lamps. There’s that hanging scent of peppermint, spicy wintermint, a woody flavor to the cold breeze that Liam smiles at.

Its home.

The feeling cuddles around him and Liam doesn’t think he can let it go – not for his flat, not for another tour of the continents, not for London and a hot cup of earl grey to ease his thoughts.

Andy is fumbling on his feet next to Liam, Maz and Zayn stumbling ahead of them. Their arms are tossed around each other, heads knocking with loud laughter, drunken feet tripping over the waves in the road. He grins with his lip between his teeth at them.

It’s – Liam can’t quite describe it. He loves watching them. He loves how all of his mates, even the ones barely around, fall in love with Zayn first. _Always Zayn_. They love his dumb jokes or his casual-cool attitude about mostly everything or his thoughtful words or, without thinking, the way he’s so careful around Liam.

Looking over him.

(A soft hand on Liam’s back and a massive smile that crinkles his eyes and an amazed look anytime Liam says something – even if it’s daft and senseless. He’s always there, in Liam’s peripheral, watching Liam talk like he’s – like he’s something _incredible_.)

Andy knocks their shoulder roughly, smirking with heavy eyes.

“I’ve always sort of loved him,” he slurs, a large hand pushing ratty hair off of his brow.

“Maz?” Liam asks.

Andy rolls his eyes, bumping their shoulders again. “Zayn, you fucking idiot.”

“ _Oh_.”

Their breaths come in foggy white clouds, the stiff cold biting at Liam’s ears. Ahead of them, Maz and Zayn sing off-key, a roaring _‘your clothes underneath my clothes once upon a time in Portugal’_ that echoes through the open streets.

“Yeah,” Andy sighs, smacking a heavy hand to Liam’s shoulder. “He’s always been good. Cool lad. I trust him.”

Liam twitches his nose at the snap of wind behind them. “You don’t trust Harry?”

Andy laughs, a barking noise that Liam’s certain will wake the sleeping houses they pass along the road.

“Everyone trusts Harry,” Andy snorts, leaning in to Liam. “Don’t trust Tommo, though. Guy’s too mental. Niall’s a bit mental too.”

“Everyone loves _Niall_ ,” Liam argues with a wheezing giggle, the cold seeping deep into his chest.

Andy shrugs, exhaling a thick mouthful of smoke.

“Yeah, well,” he mumbles, staggering. “It’s just Zayn f’me. I dunno. Just a good lad.”

Liam nods, chewing the inside of his mouth. He’s not sure if he should say anything else. He simply brushes Andy’s shoulder and guides their lazy walk down another road.

“What was it about him?” Andy asks and Liam tries so damn hard not to freeze. “I mean, like. It’s weird.”

“That I’m into boys too?” Liam wonders, blinking up at the dark sky.

“No, no,” Andy slurs quickly, scratching under the sleeve of Liam’s coat to pinch his wrist. “Y’know ‘m not like that. I know what people think but – c’mon, Payne. I’m not – people think I’m an asshole.”

“I don’t,” Liam shrugs.

Andy nods, exhaling heavily. “Yeah, yeah. Only you. And Mazzy.”

Liam bites at his tongue. Andy is tough, always a bit dense, but Liam knows he cares what people think of him. He’s so much like Louis – parading around like he never gives a shit. Like words aren’t lethal but, under the thick skin, Liam knows better. The words people throw at them sting, they bite away at the armor.

“Doesn’t matter to me that you might be a little gay,” Andy huffs.

Liam smirks, elbowing Andy. “A bit insensitive there, mate.”

Andy blinks, a slow shift in his expression like he gets it. “Right, sorry,” he mumbles, lowering his chin. “A lot gay?”

Liam laughs, the noise shaking through him. It drags up his throat, leaving a raw trail of cold around his muscles. A few interior lights flicker around them but he’s too caught on Andy’s dumb smile to feel embarrassed.

“But what was it?” Andy asks, shuffling his feet over the pavement.

Liam wrinkles his brow when he lifts it. His mouth is dry, lips chapped, fingers shoved into his pockets. Zayn is laughing into Maz’s hair, patting at it, letting Maz giggle out some Katy Perry tune as they stumble.

“Was it Dani?” Andy wonders, his face suddenly serious. “Or was it – “

Liam shakes his head immediately, his mouth quirking into a frown. “Not her.”

“Okay,” Andy drags out, shrugging.

Liam sniffs, biting the edge of his bottom lip. “No, it just,” he sighs, shoulders slumping. He feels Andy’s large hand on his spine, encouraging lazy circles scrubbed between his shoulder blades. “It just felt kind of _natural_? Me and him, I mean. Like, we get on all the time. It’s never – we don’t fight? Not really. And he sort of makes me relax. I smile a lot ‘cause of him, I guess.”

His tongue feels heavy, uncommonly numb. He thinks it’s the cold but there’s this warmth in his belly and a heat stroking across his chest. His cheeks glow from the blush rather than the snap of the breeze.

It feels like the first stitch of truth out of his mouth the entire weekend and it frightens him. It tightens his muscles around his bones thinking about Zayn.

(about _them_ , together, like this – the way it all fits so naturally)

“Dunno,” Liam whispers, shrugging one shoulder.

He watches Zayn’s nose scrunch when he laughs, his head tipping back, his hand on the nape of Maz’s neck as they try not to trip up a hilly sidewalk.

“I guess it sorta just happened,” he adds, smiling, cheeks rounding at his eyes. “We’ve always, like – “

He can see Andy’s smirk out the corner of his eye. “Always sort of fancied each other,” he finishes for Liam and –

 _Yes_.

“Yeah,” he confirms, cruelly biting his lower lip. There’s a sigh in his throat and it comes out just before he whispers, “But a bit deeper? I dunno, man. I sound daft.”

“No, no,” Andy chuckles, a little rumble in his chest when he sidles up to Liam. He scoops an arm around Liam’s shoulders. “I get it, you sod.”

Liam grins into his own shoulder. It’s the cold that makes him lightheaded, he thinks, but –

Andy’s laugh brushes warmly against the shell of Liam’s ear. “It’s _manic_ – seeing you with a lad,” he moans, quickly adding, “Not _bad_ , like. I’ve just sorted out if it’s gonna be a boy – it should be him.”

Liam swallows a mouthful of cold air and shoves all of his little thoughts – the echo of _‘it should be him’_ rough in his head – down. He prods Andy with an elbow, a massive grin that Andy replicates. They knock heads, laughing, letting the pale moon glow along their backs as they try to catch up with Zayn and Maz.

He feels like a dumb teenager, rioting the streets with his mates, falling a little in love with this feeling he hasn’t had in years.

 

///

 

“Liam?”

Liam blinks up at Zayn. The cozy lighting of their room shines a warm glow over Zayn’s glassy eyes.

He’s casually, slowly undoing the button on Zayn’s – no, it’s definitely _Liam’s shirt_ with a familiar pizza sauce stain on the inside of a cuff from his last dinner date with, well – shirt, helping him out of the sleeves, wrinkling the fabric as he goes. Liam is resting on his heels, knees pressed into the carpet, elbows on Zayn’s thighs while he’s hovering between Zayn’s legs.

His eyes drag over Zayn’s mouth, the way he softly bites a corner of his lower lip. Long fingers keep rubbing over the nape of Liam’s neck, absently dragging over the buzzed hair back there.

Liam beams at Zayn, tugging off his socks, tickling the arch of a foot. He wriggles his eyebrows when Zayn kicks away with a drunken giggle.

“Yeah?”

Zayn shoots him a thoughtful look – as thoughtful as he can be when he’s drunk and dopey.

Liam watches those white teeth twist a sugary pink bottom lip.

“Nevermind,” he sighs, putting on a counterfeit grin for Liam.

Liam quirks an eyebrow. The wind taps at the window, the floor creaking under the pressure of Liam’s knees. It fills the silence. Liam tickles a few fingers up the ink on Zayn’s forearm, a thumb over the bandana crafted around Zayn’s elbow. His calloused fingers rub into the snake around Zayn’s shoulder and –

He swallows, steadies his breathing to match Zayn’s. Sleepy eyes watch him, a fuzzy behind Zayn’s lashes.

(It should scare him away, honestly, but it doesn’t. He likes when Zayn’s like _this_ – drowsy and quiet and buzzing. It’s usually Liam, drunken and loud and restless, but in these moments – Liam loves Zayn likes this.)

He thinks to question the way Zayn hasn’t said much since they climbed the stairs, stumbled into the room, holding hands. Fumbling all the way to the bed, laughing, caught up in the night stretching around them.

And it’s there, on his tongue, but –

Liam leans up, quick and thoughtless. His hand curls around the nape of Zayn’s neck and his mouth shuffles over Zayn’s for a soft kiss. A short one, quicker than the ones from earlier. But it sticks, chapped lips skimming, something dancing in the gaps.

(He knows no one is watching them. They don’t have to put on a display. There’s no one around to prove anything to. He knows it. It’s just them but he trips into the momentum and doesn’t stop. He leaps right into the trainwreck.)

It’s chaste. An absent kiss like the ones he’s sure they’ve all given each other before but this feels – it’s _different_. It thickens the warmth in his blood, spilling along his arteries.

He pulls back as Zayn flutters those eyelashes, looking a little lost.

Liam keeps a hand on Zayn’s neck, smiling gently. “Thanks, mate,” he whispers, leaning back on his haunches.

Zayn hiccups a breath and he looks a little sad under the yellowy light but it flinches off of his face so fast. He smirks crookedly, shoving at Liam’s shoulder.

“Love you, asshole,” he mumbles, patting Liam’s cheek with heavy, blinking eyes.

“Love you too, prick,” Liam laughs, leans up.

He presses a kiss to Zayn’s forehead this time, lets Zayn steady him with soft fingers. He relaxes into it for a moment. They don’t speak, not while Zayn recklessly tries to help Liam out of his own shirt or when Liam drags Zayn out of his jeans.

Their laughs are a hush in the room when Liam turns out the light, when he toes off his socks.

Liam tugs back the duvet and shifts over enough for Zayn to fit against him. Their legs twine under the sheets, soft breaths in the dark, before Liam turns over, fluffing his pillow.

He can’t quite look at Zayn, even in the shadows, right now. Not when his head is flooded with thoughts of snogging him or just counting each of Zayn’s heartbeats between his ribs. He stares resolutely at the wall until Zayn shifts on the bed.

Liam doesn’t shrug away when Zayn curls up behind him, a warm nose at the nape of his neck, strong hands on Liam’s stomach.

(and he’ll never admit to Andy how easily he can fall asleep like this – Zayn spooning him, one of his hands covering Zayn’s low on his own belly, their feet brushing – but he dozes off before he can remember that he’s _supposed_ to tell Andy things like this. He’s meant to make them all think this is natural.)

(It is and it terrifies Liam for hours afterwards.)

 

///

 

It’s still early, the morning frost hanging off the bushes, the sky a dust blue with charcoal clouds hanging low. Liam inhales a quick puff off of his cigarette, a cardboard cup of steaming breakfast tea in his other hand. He sniffs at the air from the windowsill of the room – cinnamon sticks and wet pavement.

He smiles at it, tipping his head back to exhale a wave of smoke with his phone shoved between his ear and shoulder.

“Pancakes or toast?” Louis yawns from the other end.

Harry clears his throat, dragging some of the sleep out of his voice – even though he still sounds scratchy and deep and hoarse like he’s spent most of the night testing his gag reflex on _something_ – before he replies, “Lou, we’re s’pposed to be giving Liam advice.”

Louis makes a noncommittal sound in the background.

Liam grins, rolling his eyes.

(He didn’t mean to wake Harry up for a chat and he honestly didn’t mean for Harry to put him on hold to _ring up Louis before nine in the morning_ because Harry was enough. Harry and Louis? A fucking typhoon on shallow waters.)

“S’matta Payno? Dick caught in your flies again,” Louis grumbles.

“Wait – _wha_ t?” Liam chokes, smoke singeing his throat. He gives a quick look over his shoulder to make sure he hasn’t woken Zayn –

He’s still curled around a pillow, half of his face shoved under the duvet, an oil spill of dark hair over another pillow with soft breathing like the morning swill of a wave.

Harry snorts. “What d’you mean _again_ Lou?”

“Nevermind,” Louis scoffs and Liam can hear kitchenware rattling in the background, Louis’ mumbled cursing. “Speak up, Payno. I’ve not had my tea yet or a good wank. I’m moody.”

“Brooding,” Harry teases gently.

“Sorry,” Liam sighs after a quick drag, a vengeful swallow of tea just to spite Louis.

“Waffles,” Harry moans.

“What?”

“Lou, make waffles. You’re horrible at pancakes,” Harry insists. Liam can hear him snuffling into his pillow and he pictures tangled curls, a ruthless line of love bites along his collar and someone tiptoeing out of his bed as he stretches.

(He’s not certain if it’s a lad or a bird this late at night on the west coast, maybe both, but he smiles regardless at the thought.)

“Oh shut it,” Louis hisses. “S’not like you’re helping.”

“I’m in LA, you twit,” Harry argues, his annoyance a dull hiss.

Louis chuckles, yawning softer this time. “Meet me in New York. We can have Starbucks and buttered toast at that café you love.”

Harry hums his approval in the background and Liam wonders if he should’ve played the smart choice and rung up Niall instead.

“Lads,” he hisses, wrinkling his nose at the combination of nicotine and tea for a moment. “Not helping.”

“Right, right,” Louis drags out, a kettle whistling dully and a spoon dragging over a metal bowl – _waffles, of course_ , Liam laughs to himself because Louis Tomlinson has always been pandering to Harry –

“ _So_ ,” Louis starts with a smile Liam can hear through the fuzziness of the phone, “this about Zayno?”

Liam takes a soft drag of smoke into his throat, a quick look over his shoulder at Zayn still buried beneath the duvet.

“No,” he replies, quiet and uncertain. “Not like – is it wrong?”

“Is what wrong?” Harry asks in a slow, careful tone.

Liam exhales the smoke through his nose. “The whole _‘dating’_ thing. I mean, like, ‘m lying to all me mates. My family.” He pulls a shaky hand through his hair, ruffling the tangled bits.

Louis scoffs and Harry hums thoughtfully. Liam’s mostly certain he should’ve just texted Niall instead.

“You’re not lying, really,” Louis says, casually.

Liam huffs into his tea. “I am, Lou. They think we’re in love.”

“But you love ‘im, right?” Louis wonders.

“Of course, but, not _like_ _that_ ,” Liam says, his brow lowered and wrinkled. “I love all of you idiots.”

“But you love Zayn more?” Louis hisses like a question, like he’s leading Liam.

“Do not.”

Louis snorts. “He’s your favorite. I told Nialler.”

“He’s not,” Harry argues but there’s a thick smile in his voice. “You don’t, right Li?”

“Of course not,” Liam frowns.

(His heart skips between rhythms and that warm feeling freckles over his chest at the thought, even if he won’t admit it. Not to Louis. Or Harry. Not even Niall, probably.)

“We’re not together,” Liam mumbles, pouting. He drains the rest of his tea, resting the cup on the windowsill, hauling in another healthy breath of hot smoke.

“Not together,” Louis repeats, sympathetically. “Like El and me?”

Harry barks a laugh that still sounds smoky, garbled from the other end. “ _Please_ ,” he drags, “You’re shagging like rabbits.”

“Doesn’t define the word _‘together’_ you twit,” Louis snaps but there’s nothing vicious in his voice. It’s almost fond and Liam’s never understood the way Harry and Louis work.

(He stopped trying after Wellington, after the first tour, he’s certain.)

“Liam,” Harry says in this calm, patient voice that he always uses when he’s trying to sound rational, “it’s not really _wrong_. A bit dishonesty, yes, but you’re just out to have a bloody good time for a weekend, ‘s all. With a mate. Who you get on with.”

“Who you love,” Louis teases and Liam considers hanging up.

He lets a thick cloud of smoke swirl in his chest, biting at his thumbnail.

“You’re scaring him, Lou,” Harry sings, a little too affectionately.

Louis chokes on a laugh. “Doesn’t matter. ‘s not real, anyway.”

Liam nods, shuts his eyes while blowing out a long exhale of grey smoke. He knocks off the ash and breathes in a shallow swallow of wintry air.

“But it sort of is,” Harry inserts, his voice low. “You two have always sort of been – _different_?”

(Liam is starting to hate that word too.)

“Married,” Louis corrects and Liam hates them. Both of them. Equally.

“But not like Niall and me,” Harry grins while Louis scoffs.

Liam lets his head hang with slumped shoulders, leaning on the windowsill. He flicks the last of his cigarette out into the mulch, rolls the last bit of smoke over his tongue.

“Oi, ‘course not,” Louis sighs, slurping at his tea and Liam thinks, absently, he’s probably burning his waffles. “You two are just horny arseholes.”

The smoke filters through the side of his mouth, his knuckles gone white from gripping the ledge too tightly. He ignores Harry’s chiding laughter and the way he can hear Louis scowling from the other side. His teeth drag over his lip and he’s not really cross with them, it’s just –

Liam blinks over his shoulder again. He watches Zayn shifts under the duvet, a puckered wave of motions. He’s still asleep, Liam can tell, but the soft peek of his hair and warm skin and fingers gripping at another pillow instead of Liam creates this defenseless ripple of happiness down Liam’s spine.

It’s unnecessary.

He pouts and averts his eyes back to the silver clouds outside.

“Y’think too much, babe,” Louis says, startling Liam. “Doesn’t matter what any of ‘em think. Or if you’re giving all of them half the truth.”

Liam winces, biting roughly at his lip. He thinks to argue but – he doesn’t know when or how but Louis sounds mostly right. This is all – maybe some of it is a little true? Only slightly.

“Yeah, Li,” Harry hums. “Enjoy y’self. Deal with the rest later.”

Liam scrunches his eyebrows. “Sounds a bit like procrastinating.”

“Brilliant,” Louis sneers, “Something you’re good at.”

Liam hangs up then. It’s with a wide smile and a heat in his lungs from something other than the dead smoke. His fingers catch in the longer bits of his hair, his shoulders finally shrugging away some of the tension. He shuts the window, turns on his heels, bounces across the cold carpet all the way to the bed to crawl back in.

Zayn mumbles, squeezes his eyes tighter, punches weakly at nothing.

“Too early,” he sighs when Liam scurries under the blankets, fitting himself between the wall and Zayn’s curled up body. “More sleep. Loads of sleep.”

Liam laughs softly, shoving an arm under Zayn to pull him in. It’s like instinct.

(And he doesn’t freeze or tense when Zayn crawls to burrow his face into the crook of his neck, dry lips over his birthmark. Zayn cuddles with everyone like this. Not just Liam – but he flushes because Zayn drags his nose over Liam’s throat, hums approvingly when Liam massages at the nape of his neck with cold fingers.)

“Up in a few hours, babe,” he whispers, spreading his fingers over the bird between Zayn’s shoulder blades. “Got a wedding and stuff.”

“Shut up,” Zayn groans, dragging his stubble over Liam’s collarbones.

(He knows Zayn’s still sleeping off the hangover, the exhaustion. He doesn’t complain or jump on the bed, shouting loudly, like he knows Louis would. He considers it, with a broad smirk, but he’s too comfortable here.)

(too comfortable with Zayn reaching up to scratch at his scalp while their legs tangle)

Liam smirks but he doesn’t reply. He skims his bare feet over Zayn’s for the warmth and Zayn doesn’t shove him away. He curls long fingers around Liam’s hip, his breathing evening out.

“Stop breathing so bloody loud,” Zayn hisses, pressing a dry kiss to Liam’s throat. “And stop talking. Jus’ sleep, you donut.”

Liam chokes on an incredulous noise and Zayn shoves a chuckle under Liam’s jaw.

It takes minutes, seconds really, before their hands stop moving and they fall asleep like this – curled around each other for protection, under the covers.

(Liam loves this sort of honesty and he thinks of a dozen reasons why that makes all of this okay.)

 

///

 

“Y’alright Payne?” Paddy asks as Liam fusses with the buttons on his shirt.

He frowns in the mirror for a moment, sliding a sigh under his breath.

(Truthfully, it’s a _nice_ suit. A smart suit. Caroline knows him better than anyone when it comes to clothes and he really likes the gold trim around the collar. The long black trench hung over a chair in the lobby. The trousers fit nicely, the cuffs still stiff and starched despite the wear of travel. He thinks it makes him look like an extra in a Bond film, a bit vintage with the product slicking his shiny hair.)

He checks his watch, huffing. “M’fine.”

Paddy nods slowly, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Ye don’t look it.”

Liam frowns again, looking down at his feet. He swallows quietly, barely flinching his shoulders for a shrug.

“I’m good,” he swears but his voice gives him away.

(He’s not. He’s nervous, incredibly so. He’s left Zayn upstairs to finish his routine – Liam swears, out of all of them, Harry and Zayn can be the worst. Sometimes Louis, maybe even Liam. But the hours Zayn sits, fussing over outfits and hating hairstyles and – Liam laughs to himself. It’s simply _Zayn_ , always has been.)

(Still, he keeps thinking of being sat at a wedding, with a pretend boyfriend, with a dozen or so of his family watching him. Watching _them_ , actually.)

(He keeps repeating, quietly, _‘this is not real he is your best mate they will understand’_ until the words stop feeling so heavy over his tongue.)

“You sure about this?” Paddy asks, his voice casual.

He knows Liam almost as well as the boys. Almost like Paul does. Liam is shit at hiding all of his thoughts.

Liam slips two fingers between his neck and collar, tugging at the material like it’s too tight. He gives a one-shoulder shrug, lifting his brow.

“It’s weird, y’know? Like, _us_. Zayn and me,” he mutters, glancing around. There’s no one else in the lobby watching, listening.

He sighs, deflates. “I dunno, man. Does it look, I mean, strange? Him and me?”

Paddy shoots him a cautiously blank look. “S’not my place, Payne.”

Liam whines softly, shoulders pulling tight. “Patrick, c’mon – “

Paddy clears his throat roughly, rolling his shoulders. He narrows his eyes at the pout Liam gives him in the reflection but his lips quirk slightly. Just a little.

“He looks at you, like,” Paddy pauses, fixing his cuffs, dusting the lint from Liam’s shoulders. “Like you’re really amazing, Payne. And you _are_ , I tell you that all of the time, but – “

Liam flushes in the mirror, dropping his chin, unable to hide most of his shy smile.

“ – it’s like you’re made of stars or something dumb and romantic, I guess,” Paddy sighs, clapping large hands on Liam’s shoulder. He gives a healthy squeeze, something heavy but relaxing pushed into his fingers. “Since I’ve known the lad, never had one bad thing to say about you. Nothing he wouldn’t take back in a heartbeat if it really hurt ya.”

Liam swallows, tilting his head. He feels anxious under Paddy’s hands but the strong, serious look Paddy shoots him with narrowed eyes and a tight jaw steadies Liam.

(It almost reminds Liam of his father when he’s giving a lecture to Liam while helping him pack, squeezing Liam just a little too tight before he drags a suitcase out the door)

“He’s silly with Horan and he’s mental with Tomlinson, but with you,” Paddy smirks, playfully patting the top of Liam’s head. “The lad is just an idiot about you, Payne. Guess it’s what makes all of t’is easy, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he whispers, dropping his hands into fists at his sides. He shuts his eyes, breathes in deep, holds it in his lungs.

“D’you want it to be like – “

Zayn’s soft humming, a tune Liam doesn’t quite remember but loves, interrupts Paddy’s words and Liam startles from under his hands, choking off the last of his breath. He drags a hand over his hair when Zayn walks up and –

 _Incredible_.

(Liam tastes it on his tongue, the word, the weight of it. He drags it over his lips and he doesn’t think he’ll forget the flavor for years.)

He’s seen Zayn like this before – in a half-suit with broad shoulders, a narrow torso outlined by the material, quietly cracking his knuckles as he walks. But it’s the halo of sun from the windows and the edge of stubble shadowing his jaw and cheeks. It’s the fit of the shirt, the slim black trousers. The coastal outline of light around his eyes. Pink lips chapped and stretched into a crooked grin.

It’s probably the thick amount of product pulling his hair back and the loose strand of fringe curling over his face, slipping into his eyelashes.

Liam blinks hard at Zayn as he sidles up.

Zayn chuckles under his breath, smelling like fresh cigarette smoke and sandalwood. He knocks their shoulders, reaches long fingers up to fix Liam’s collar.

“You look smart,” he smirks.

Liam tilts his head down, bashful. He hates the sting of blush along his round cheeks, fingers settling on Zayn’s slim waist.

“Shut up,” he mumbles with his bottom lip stuck between his teeth. “You look, like. Um, you look quite. Brilliant?”

(He hates the stammer in his voice, the confusion, the nerves. The embarrassing lilt to his words like he’s unsure of himself.)

“Was going for _impressive_ , mate,” Zayn teases, thudding a fist with no strength behind it to Liam’s shoulder. “Thanks.”

Liam chokes on a giggle, tightening his fingers on Zayn’s waist. “That too,” he says between wheezing laughs.

Zayn looks up through his eyelashes, cracked timidity in the hollows of gold. There’s something cheerful in the roll of his tongue over his lips, the lift at the corner of his mouth.

Liam swats Zayn’s hand away when he goes to fix his strand of hair, clucking at him. “Leave it,” he scolds softly, blushing at the wide eyes Zayn gives him. “Looks striking.”

(He’s a bit ashamed and proud at the word choice, some dumb crossword puzzle he worked out with Harry in _the Sunday Telegraph_ and nine down, eight across – _an adjective for unusual, extreme, or prominent_.)

Zayn tilts his head some, cheeks scrunching his nose and pressing up into his eyes when he smiles.

“Sick,” Zayn says, his teeth pressed to his teeth.

Liam’s mouth curls into an uneven grin and its instinct, nothing else, that makes him consider leaning in, pressing a soft peck to Zayn’s lips.

(Because there’s a few wedding guests wandering around the lobby now, his sisters somewhere in the background, an aunt and a cousin and a few familiar faces.)

(Honestly, because he thinks he can do it without Zayn protesting. Because, the way Zayn’s eyes scan over his lips, makes him think he could. He _should_.)

“Oi, you fucking lovebirds ready?” Andy shouts, striding into the lobby.

Liam stumbles back a little, pressing his hand to the back of his neck, frowning at his shoes. He looks up just enough through his eyelashes to see Zayn shooting him a confused expression. It’s not wounded, like he expects, just thoughtful. Considering.

(Liam hates himself for wanting something a bit more.)

“Wow,” Andy exhales, dropping an arm around Zayn’s smaller shoulders. He studies Zayn for a moment but Zayn keeps his astute eyes on Liam and

(He’s not proud of the swell in his ego at that. But, deep in his chest where the tiny little ember of self-consciousness still glows, he thinks he’s delighted. Overwhelmed.)

Andy turns just a little to grin at Liam before he adds, “I think I’ve just nutted off. ‘ave you seen this lad? Fucking cheekbones and shit.”

Zayn rolls his eyes and it drags a relaxed laugh from Liam’s chest.

“Quit trying to chat up me boyfriend,” Liam teases, smacking a hand to Andy’s chest, wrinkling his neatly done-up shirt, knocking him back to press into Zayn’s hip with his own.

He wiggles his eyebrows playfully, sliding an arm around Zayn’s back, fingers brushing the tiny curve of Zayn’s bum. He lifts an eyebrow when Zayn turns pink because – well, nothing.

It’s just a game. They’re only pretending. Zayn’s a much better actor than he ever was and it’s the only explanation he can come up with when Zayn arches his back just slightly to press into the fullness of Liam’s palm.

“Don’t be rude,” Zayn tuts, his lips trembling out a grin that scrunches his nose just a little.

Liam rolls his eyes, smacking Zayn’s bum teasingly. “Shut it, you.”

(He doesn’t think – there’s something dark in Zayn’s eyes when they look at each other, something that feels possessive and willing.)

(Liam doesn’t move his hand from Zayn’s arse, his thumb tracing the shape of it, fingers squeezing at the softness because someone might be looking and – he’s fucking horrible at this but his hand stays.)

His skin turns hot and red when he catches Paddy raising his brow from the corner of his eye. Liam shifts uncomfortably for a moment until Andy smirks.

“Fucking lovebirds. It’s gross,” he mumbles, curling a hand around the nape of Liam’s neck to drag him towards the door. “C’mon or we’ll be late.”

Liam stumbles with him, instinctually reaching behind him. He waits, holds his breath, until Zayn’s fingers find the spaces between Liam’s. He ducks his head just enough to disguise his grin and his heart speeds up in his chest when Zayn tangles their fingers, giving a soft squeeze as they walk out the door.

 

///

 

“Wait, wait. One more. Jus’ one more, please,” Karen begs with shaky hands trying to center her phone.

Liam shoves down a groan. He tenses out a smile while Zayn, the ridiculous idiot, squeezes behind him, arms around Liam’s chest, a massive grin on his face as he presses his cheek to Liam’s.

He can’t help the garbled laugh that flees from his mouth and he knows he’s ruined the picture. His mum frowns a little, making a face. Zayn skims a giggle to the shell of Liam’s ear, whispers, “Be good.”

Liam rolls his eyes, leans just enough to give Zayn a cheek to press a teasing kiss to.

(And he wishes that loud noise was anything other than his heart knocking against his sternum at the way Zayn laughs while peppering his cheek with kisses.)

“Another. Jus’ one more, loves,” Karen pleads, raising her phone again, still out of focus. “I need something for the holiday cards. Oh, and a video. Zayn squeeze in tight – Liam James, don’t you dare pout – “

“Alright, alright,” Geoff grins, tugging on the hem of Karen’s dress as he finds their seats. “To our seats, love.”

Karen scoffs, snapping one more picture of them – Zayn is mid-kiss, pressing it to the tip of Liam’s nose this time – with a giggle. “Too cute,” she preens before plopping down next to Liam’s dad.

“Disgusting,” Ruth hisses, high-fiving Nicola when Liam slouches down into his own pew between Zayn and Paddy.

There’s a little over two dozen guests in the small church, huddled together, chatting softly while an organ echoes into the rafters.

He knows they’re meant to be low-key, unnoticeable. Just a small show for a few family members, a few mates who’ve already spotted them holding hands or snogging at the pub. Nothing too grand, he thinks, because they’re still –

Liam knows they can’t afford too many pictures or a tweet or being caught on the front page of _the Sun_ the next morning. He keeps it simple – holding Zayn’s hand almost out of view, knocking a soft peck to his cheek between conversations like he would with Niall or Louis, making silly faces at the flower girls when they notice him. He trusts his family. There’s never a request for an autograph or a compromising picture – Zayn keeps his distance, mostly, when someone new drags Liam into a snapshot with their phones.

There’s not enough people around for him to be nervous but his palms are still sweaty, his leg twitching, his lip gnawed between anxious teeth.

“Alright?” Zayn whispers under the music, nudging Liam.

He nods instantly. It’s robotic now – smiling, pretending that this isn’t weird.

(Or that he doesn’t love the way Zayn immediately laces their fingers together, lifting their hands, kissing each of Liam’s knuckles until they’re a quiet fit of giggles.)

Liam leans into Zayn until their elbows knock, until he can rest his head on Zayn’s shoulder. He sniffs at Zayn’s cologne, grins. _Gucci by Gucci_ , years later.

(And he knows Zayn stopped wearing that scent a long time ago but – he doesn’t think about _why_ Zayn has it on now.)

“Twenty quid says Amelia cries first,” Liam whispers, snorting.

Zayn smirks, his nose wrinkling. “Fifty says Oliver forgets his lines.”

Liam strangles a laugh, his body shaking with it. He gives Zayn’s hand a tender squeeze, nuzzles into his shoulder (because Zayn is comfortable, that’s all) before nodding.

“Another hundred pounds on Oliver throwing up ‘cause he’s still hungover from hanging out with you awful lot,” Paddy hisses, swatting at Liam’s leg until it stops jumping.

“I’ll take that bet,” Andy grins from the pew behind them and Liam buries his face in Zayn’s shirt to muffle his laughter.

(He loves the way Zayn chuckles with him, his spare hand brushing at Liam’s chin – the way they always do to get each other’s attention, to drag a smile out of the other.)

(And he loves the way Zayn makes fun of the bridesmaids’ dresses with him – “They’re _lilac_ ,” Zayn reminds him when Liam calls them _purple_ – and how they whisper during Aunt Millie’s horrible rendition of a Coldplay tune – “Fix You,” they giggle together, hiding their faces when Karen clucks her tongue at them.)

“So lovely,” Karen beams and Liam looks up to the altar for a moment.

He smiles, briefly, until he realizes his mum is staring at Zayn’s thumb rubbing over Liam’s knuckles, their wrists pressed together.

His lips twitch into a put upon grin and he holds it until she turns back before slouching a little, loosening his grip around Zayn’s fingers.

Zayn doesn’t flinch and Liam is thankful. Because all of this is just for everyone else anyway. Not for them. It’s definitely not for –

He exhales quietly and glares at the altar, smearing the sweat from his palm along his trousers.

(Zayn drags his fingers over his scalp when Oliver stammers through his vows, grinning.)

(Liam smacks Zayn’s hand away when he reaches into his trouser pocket for a twenty while Amelia _sobs_ under her veil and, when the church falls into a hush during her vows, Zayn drags an affectionate kiss to the corner of Liam’s mouth that tricks a smile out of him.)

(His palms keep sweating, his heart loud enough for Zayn to hear, and all he can think is _dizzy_.)

“I now pronounce you Oliver and Amelia – “

(Dizzy and incredible.)

 

///

 

Liam fiddles with the arrangement of orchid petals around a massive candle in the middle of the table, smirking at the centerpiece. He reclines in his chair, biting his lip at the flood of familiar music filling the small reception space.

Andy is off chatting up one of the bridesmaids, looking helplessly daft while complimenting her dress. The flower girls keep dashing up to sit in Liam’s lap, whispering giggles like lightheaded fairies before hugging him and running off. His dad is gathered around the wine table with a few uncles, drunken members of the groom’s party. Oliver is clumsily spinning Amelia around the small hardwood dance floor (because he wasn’t coordinated enough during their dance lessons to do this proper, the bloody git) and even Paddy is grinning in a corner of the room, ignoring all of the single aunts and cousins who casually flirt with him.

Liam snorts, grinning at a familiar Maroon 5 tune while sipping at his wine.

(He doesn’t mind the sweet, woody flavor of it, even if he would prefer an iced Jack Daniels to burn this edge of – he’s not sure. He feel giddy, ecstatic. He hasn’t had a moment of escapism like this in too long.)

Ruth wriggles her eyebrows at him from across the table, Nicola giggling and buzzed from her fourth glass of white wine.

“Quite the catch, that one,” Ruth teases, nodding her head at the dance floor.

Liam crinkles his eyebrows for a moment, shifting in his seat and –

Oh. Right.

Zayn is wheezing out a laugh, stumbling around the floor, trying to keep up with Karen. He’s awful, amusingly so. He keeps tripping over his feet, bouncing his hips off beat, spinning Karen in his arms carelessly until she looks lightheaded and happy.

Liam sinks in his chair a little, chewing along his lip. “Yeah,” he smiles, the blush flicking at his cheeks. He takes a large swallow of wine, keeping his head bowed. “Um, he is. I mean, he’s good. Fantastic.”

He winces at the stammer in his voice. He balls his hands into fists in his lap, biting his lip raw. Their giggles shift under the charge of his heart, the steady thump, the adrenaline spiked into his blood. He’s not _ashamed_ , maybe embarrassed and he just –

The smile tugging at the corners of his mouth slows everything down. He takes another quick glance at Zayn, fumbling to follow Karen’s lead, laughing with his head tipped back.

He looks – he seems – Zayn is happy.

(and it’s that mixture of dopamine, the strangled giggle in the back of Liam’s throat, that keeps him watching Zayn for a few minutes more. Because he can.)

“Oi, don’t stare,” Nicola scolds, kicking at Liam’s ankle. “We all know how good he looks.”

“He looks hot,” Ruth says, fanning her hand over her face dramatically. “Fucking cheekbones and nice shoulders. Look at that neck.”

“Ruthie,” Nicola laughs, shoving at her sister. “Don’t. He’s like another little brother.”

“Oi, yeah,” Ruth swoons, sinking in her seat, stealing Nicola’s wine glass. “An extremely fit one who didn’t come from our mum’s womb so, by right, I _could_ shag him.”

The stubbornly loud noise of frustration Liam lets out draws a cackle from his sisters, both of them kicking at his ankle under the table. He pouts, petulantly, slouching in his chair.

He hates them, just a little, on merit alone.

“Still hot,” Ruth shrugs, hiccupping a snicker.

Nicola rolls her eyes, nicks her wine back. She slurps at it loudly, snorting. “You’ve forgotten watching that twit grow up before our eyes with his dodgy haircuts and the leather jackets – “

“Fuck me,” Ruth croons and Liam flushes immediately at the darkness in her eyes, “ _the leather jackets_. And the varsity ones. Oi, me knickers. Christ, Nic’, quit murdering the dream.”

Liam drags a hand down his hot, embarrassingly flushed face, laughing into his palm. It’s these moments, sat with his sisters, sneaking small looks at Zayn shuffling his mum around in circles to something by Tony Bennett, that he wants to grip in his palm. Hold onto until it bleeds out between his fingers.

(It’s all a bit weird, in his head, because he never thought of including Zayn into his equation before. His family, even though he thinks all of the lads are a bit like brothers. But Zayn. He fits somewhere else, a little more intimate, a little more permanent. A little more like a – )

He finishes his wine quickly, looking down at his lap. Louis is right – he thinks too much.

“Hey,” Ruth says, gently, a hint of clarity in her voice when she knocks her foot to his shin.

Liam blinks up with a blank face.

Ruth grins, looking thoughtful, if not a little drunk. “This is probably a wee bit sappy,” she says, softly, tilting her head, “but we’re massively happy about it, okay? You and Zayn. We all, all of us, have sort of always _hoped_ – “

His breath stops somewhere between his sternum and his lungs, fingertips pressing sharply into the palm of his hand.

“Oh, we have,” Nicola adds, a fond laugh exhaled from her mouth. “You’ve always been so happy t’gether.”

“Always so excited when he was around,” Ruth agrees, her cheeks stained pink, her eyes like northern stars.

“And so sad when wasn’t ‘round,” Nicola beams, giggling.

“So very sad. You looked poorly,” Ruth inserts and Liam wants to burrow under the table. He pouts instead.

“Yeah, yeah,” Nicola sighs, squeezing Ruth’s hand on the table. “When he was gone. Or when you’d come home for hols and didn’t have a proper long chat with ‘im. We love that.”

Liam squints at them but his scowl doesn’t stick. He licks at his lips and he thinks of excusing himself for more wine just to avoid the fond looks they’re giving him from across the table.

“We’ve always sort of loved you two together, Li,” Ruth swears, this earnest honesty in her glassy eyes.

(He _almost_ breaks. He almost tells them in a sputtering, guilty voice. It’s unfair and he hates lying, he hates the way they’re so in love with the lie. Because Liam and Zayn aren’t like that.)

(No matter how loud his heart beats or how hot his blood is or the way his stomach drops out when Zayn shoots him a curious smile from the dance floor.)

( _They’re_ not _like that_.)

He presses down into his chair, wriggling uncomfortably, fuzzy eyebrows knit together. Ruth and Nicola giggle quietly, foreheads pressed together, whispering things he doesn’t want to hear. He stares at his empty glass, frowning, feeling out of sorts.

“Hey, babe,” Zayn huffs, sounding breathless as he drops a warm hand on Liam’s shoulder. Liam jumps, worriedly biting at his lip while Zayn cocks his head, shooting him a confused look. “Alright?”

Liam nods quickly (a little too fast because the wine is sinking in and he feels the buzz in his fingertips, his toes), flashing Zayn a tiny placating smile.

Zayn chews gently at his lip, a hint of doubt in his expression, but he smooths his hand over Liam’s shoulder, nodding. He carefully brushes that thin section of fringe out of his own eyes, shrugging. Those long fingers slide to the buzzed hair at the nape of Liam’s neck, soft pressure. Liam goes slack under the heat.

(He swears Louis Tomlinson is a bloody _tit_ for encouraging him to enjoy this because he’s not sure what _this_ is but it fizzles in his blood, weightier than the wine, the adrenaline, and settles. It fucking settles into his bones and it’s terrifying.)

“Adorable, innit?” Ruth teases, leaning her head on Nicola’s shoulder.

Liam ignores them with a scrunched face, glowering childishly.

“Y’sure?” Zayn asks, lips drawn into a soft smile.

Strong shoulders drop and Liam leans into Zayn’s palm – pressed to his cheek, a thumb tracing the corner of his mouth – before he replies, “Yeah, babe. ‘m great.”

Zayn laughs in a raspy voice, shaking his head. “C’mon,” he insists, tugging his hand away (Liam doesn’t wince or chase the warmth, not immediately) while jerking his head towards the almost empty dance floor. “Your dad stole me dance partner. D’you wanna, like. Sound good?”

Ruth and Nicola swoon instantly and Liam thinks to kick them this time. Instead, he chuckles under his breath, shrugging noncommittally.

“Pops is a bit of a romantic,” Liam comments, leaning back for a better view, to grin at his parents dancing lazily and slow around the hardwood.

“Like father, like – “

Liam stamps on Ruth’s foot and scowls at Nicola before her snicker gets too loud. Ruth yelps, tossing a balled napkin at him.

“Wanker,” she hisses, lips already curling up into a smirk.

“Babe,” Zayn whines in that voice he reserves for annoying Harry or teasing Louis when he’s chatting with Eleanor or when he’s trying to get Liam’s attention.

Like now, with a perfectly pouty pink mouth, a tilted head, wide eyes looking half-sad.

Liam gasps out a laugh. He leans back, smacking Zayn’s hip until he’s playful again, punching at Liam’s shoulder.

“You dick.”

“Don’t be naughty,” Liam sighs, shaking a finger at Zayn but the quirk of his lips gives him away. His eyebrows set low on his face. “You actually wanna, like. You want to dance? With me?”

Zayn nods slowly with a nervous smile.

“But you’re shite at it. Absolutely horrible,” Liam says, rounding out the words, his tongue flicking at the roof of his mouth.

Zayn rolls his eyes, exhaling impatiently. “Cheers, thanks. Such a romantic.”

Liam wrinkles his face at Zayn. He’s certain Zayn knows he doesn’t have to try this hard – with the pleading look in his eyes, the put upon frown like he’s disappointed in Liam’s reaction, the way he keeps rocking on his heels – to impress anyone watching them. Or Liam’s sisters.

He doesn’t have to –

(There’s a hot flush to his face, all through his chest, at the thought that maybe Zayn isn’t pretending. Maybe he’s – no. Liam schools his thoughts and swears he’s going to trash Louis and Harry’s hotel room the first day of tour for making him think any of this.)

Liam catches a corner of his bottom lip with his teeth, scrunching up his brow, making a face that Zayn scoffs at.

“C’mon,” Zayn whines, wriggling his fingers at Liam like _c’mere you donut_ is on his tongue. “Leeyum.”

He flutters his eyelashes with these huge, cartoonish puppy eyes and Liam, admittedly, has always been avidly enthusiastic to make Zayn smile.

Liam shoves out of his chair, nearly knocking it over with his enthusiasm, cheeks pinking, eyes turning soft at the way Zayn’s grin stretches and wrinkles his eyes. He slips his hand over Zayn’s, fingers lacing almost naturally now, Liam giving Zayn a small twirl for the echoing laugh he barks out.

“C’mon, you twat,” he says, lips shoved to Zayn’s ear, a spare hand already settling on Zayn’s spine.

Zayn knock his cheek to Liam’s lips, brushing against it like a kitten, still hoarse with laughter.

“Oi, Christ,” Ruth hisses, wolf-whistling when Zayn tightens fingers to the nape of Liam’s neck. “Can you believe our little brother gets to shag that?”

Zayn stumbles in front of Liam, flustered. Liam shoots Ruth and Nicola a scowl over his shoulder and they laugh drunkenly loud as Liam ushers Zayn all the way to the center of the floor, stomping his feet.

“Hey, yeah?” Zayn smiles, spinning in Liam’s arms until they’re face to face. He wriggles his eyebrows humorously, making a face that unsettles Liam’s lips into a small smile.

He’s not sure what to – they’re not really dancers. They’re rather proud of their lack of choreography during shows, their synchronized disproportion, this uncanny ability to dance off beat to _everything_. And he can see it in Zayn’s eyes – because Liam is all loose hips, silly footwork while Zayn is stiff shoulders, a rough roll of his waist, a constant awkward moment.

Liam laughs softly, palming the nape of his neck. Frankie Valli plays in the background, the floor mostly empty except for a few older couples swaying gently.

“We don’t have to, like,” Zayn shrugs, grinding his bottom lip with his teeth, looking around.

Liam rolls his eyes and shuffles up to close the gap, grabbing a hand and squeezing a hip.

“Shut up, you twat,” he grins, pulling Zayn closer until their hips are flushed, their chests knocking, “and don’t stomp on me toes like last time.”

Zayn’s mouth goes slack, a quiet cluck of his tongue that Liam giggles at before he carefully sways them into the gentle croon of the music.

He feels Zayn’s free hand in a familiar space – low on Liam’s spine, a thumb tracing the dimples, fingers spreading just enough to brush –

Liam flushes when Zayn looks up through his eyelashes and he can already see his mum watching them over Zayn’s shoulder, a scrunched face of delight like she’s been waiting ages for –

He schools his expression, focuses on not tripping over his own feet. He circles them around the center of the floor, keeping his chin low to watch their feet, their clumsy little rhythm. It’s soothing. They’re still so young and awkward and learning every little beat of life together.

Zayn noses at his shoulder, smiling fondly. Liam can’t help it when he leans in too, dragging his smile over Zayn’s twin piercings, lips catching on the silver hoops. He whispers half of the words, a low baritone stretching _‘you’re just too good to be true can’t take my eyes off of you’_ that has Zayn laughing into his collar.

“You’re horrible,” Zayn mumbles, his nose skimming Liam’s birthmark. “Think they’re getting a laugh out of it?”

Liam shrugs, dragging his thumb over hidden ink. He darts his eyes to his dad, losing focus at the bright eyes and strong smile and embarrassing wave when Zayn isn’t paying attention. He shoves his laugh into Zayn’s hair, nodding.

“Center of attention, I reckon,” he huffs, the last of his laugh rattling his throat.

“Don’t stop,” Zayn whispers, digging his fingers into the small of Liam’s back. “I mean, like. Keep singing?”

Liam sways their hips a little filthily until Zayn cocks his head back, choking on a giggle. He drags Zayn back, stumbling on Zayn’s foot, spinning them in lazy figure-eights, a soft croon of _‘I wanna hold you so much’_ when they fumble by his parents.

He watches Nicola lead Ruth onto the floor, stumbling and still buzzing as they tango around them. Andy’s trying his best imitation of _Strictly Come Dancing_ to his left with another bridesmaid, Maz bopping back and forth solo to their right.

His hand shuffles up Zayn’s ribs for a soft tickle, for the way Zayn jolts back with a laugh. They fall into each other again, in unison this time, smiling all the way through _‘but if you feel like I feel please let me know that it’s real’_ with squished eyes.

“Not so bad, hey?” Zayn offers, dragging his hips over Liam’s when the music picks up a half-step.

Liam groans obscenely (and his cock thickens just enough) while his knuckles go white from the grip he has on Zayn’s waist.

“Naughty boy,” he giggles, grinding back.

“Oi, keep it clean,” Nicola teases, swatting an uncoordinated hand at them.

“Or trade off so I can – “

Nicola smacks a hand over Ruth’s mouth, muffling her words, and it catches Liam unexpectedly – Zayn leaning up on his toes, threading a kiss to his throat, smirking vindictively at Liam’s sisters.

(and his dick plumps a little more – his cheeks a hot pink, his hips drawing back so Zayn can’t feel it)

“Dirty lad,” Ruth squeals, tripping on the hem of her dress.

“Fucking lovebirds,” Andy grumbles, behind them, thumping Liam’s shoulder. “There are children present.”

Zayn hums his laughter into Liam’s chest and he’s lightheaded. Completely dizzy and unwilling to pull away. He shuffles Zayn to the rim of the floor, teasing the loose strand hanging in his face, squeezing Zayn’s hand tighter.

(there’s a rush of _‘oh pretty baby now that I’ve found you stay and let me love you baby’_ on his lips when their eyes meet, a shine of sweat on their brows, a slow curl of their lips like they’re almost thinking the same thing)

“Good day, yeah?” Zayn wonders, staring at Liam’s mouth.

“Bloody good,” Liam smirks, watching the flush under Zayn’s honey skin.

His fingers, unconsciously, curl on the nape of Zayn’s neck, scratching into his softer hair now that the product has started to loosen. He licks at his lips, synchronized with Zayn, their feet slowing, their hearts louder from here.

“Oh, love,” Karen gushes when they pass, startling Liam, Zayn looking away quickly, “I remember those days, Geoff.”

“They never went away, darling,” Geoff laughs, an arm curled around Liam’s mum, his round smile smothered in her hair.

There’s an instant tug at Liam’s mouth, watching his parents. This cozy feeling as they walk hand in hand. The way they’ve always sort of been – well, _in love_. Happy. It spreads down his joints and, admittedly, he’s always chased that – being in love. Finding someone to make him blush like his mum does. Someone he wants to protect like his dad has.

(and he’d almost felt that with Danielle except she never wanted it too.)

(he thought, bit haphazardly, he had that recently but she never really liked the way Liam hovered or cared much for the moments when he felt weakest or – )

Liam studies the way Zayn smirks watching his parents. The steadiness of his hand on Liam’s spine, rubbing idle shapes into his shirt, eyes crinkling fondly. It’s a little fragile, thoughtful, disguisable like Zayn always is.

“Another dance?” he suggests when a tune he hasn’t heard in ages flickers in. He slips his sweaty palm from Zayn’s, carting up an eyebrow when Zayn blinks at him.

“Not worried about y’feet?” Zayn teases, lowering his chin to cover his gentle smile.

Liam huffs a laugh, edging them back to the middle of the hardwood floor. “A little,” he whispers, curling a finger under Zayn’s chin, lifting it, “but you’re a bit of an exception.”

The fairy lights and tea candles flick these dots of gold – like the dust lifted by an early sun in a bedroom – over Zayn’s eyelashes, their chests pressing together for deep breaths. Zayn cocks his head, mocking Liam with his grin, while his hands lace together lazily around Liam’s neck.

“Lou says I’m your favorite, so,” Zayn shrugs.

“Tommo says a lot of things,” Liam replies, quietly. “The dick.”

“Hey, that’s me partner in crime,” Zayn argues with a curvy smile. “A good lad.”

Liam leans in, a breath away, their foreheads nearly touching. “But he’s not here. So shut up and lemme enjoy a good dance with me best mate, alright?”

He watches Zayn’s throat bobble when he swallows. Something outrageously dark leaks into his eyes, his spine shivering when Liam rubs his hands there, soothingly. There’s Sade in the distance, the dance floor crowded with more couples, and Liam thinks all of the lights are teasing over them rather than Amelia and Oliver this time.

Their sway is timid this time. They keep sneaking glances through their eyelashes, smirking. Nervous. A crooked flash of teeth from Zayn and Liam’s nose twitching and their exhales breathier than he remembers them being.

(Liam closes his eyes, for a second, falling into _‘you think I’d leave your side baby you know me better than that’_ like the words are sewn into his cells.)

“They keep looking at us,” Zayn says, anxiously shy.

“Yeah,” Liam breathes, blinking his eyes open.

He doesn’t bother looking around. He keeps staring at Zayn, his sharp teeth leaving his bottom lip raw, cherry-red. Liam snorts.

“Should we, like. I mean,” Zayn stammers, obviously self-conscious like he was when he was sixteen and told to dance on a huge stage. “D’you, like – should you kiss me?”

Liam shrugs, shifting a hand up Zayn’s back, over his shoulder blades. “I could.”

“You could?” Zayn blurts with large eyes. “I mean, yeah. Like, y’could, mate.”

Liam chuckles, strong and throaty. “Be a bit of a problem?”

“Not really,” Zayn says with another careless shrug. His fingers drag into Liam’s hair, over his scalp, setting a fuzzy static down Liam’s spine. “I dunno, man. Seems a bit appropriate? As a boyfriend.”

“ _Pretend_ boyfriend,” Liam replies, dragging it out because –

It doesn’t feel that way and that’s just – fuck.

“Yeah, right, right,” Zayn nods, lowering his eyes.

(Liam wonders if he’s watching the way Liam’s heart fists at his chest, a roar, a caged wild animal.)

(He wonders if Zayn even bothers to notice him leaning down, smiling, breathing out _‘oh, when you’re cold I’ll be there hold you tight to me’_ to Zayn’s forehead.)

“I could,” Liam repeats, thumbing at Zayn’s jaw, waiting until his head lifts. “I mean, ‘cause they’re watching. We’d be, like – they expect us to.”

“They do,” Zayn sighs, following the momentum of Liam’s thumb. “They expect it.”

Liam shrugs one shoulder, spinning them in half-circles. “They do,” he repeats in a whisper.

“I do,” Zayn says, shaking, startling away a little. “Y’know, ‘cause like, I do want them to think we’re happy.”

“Happy,” Liam says softly, inclining.

“Y’know, properly in love,” Zayn adds, dragging a pink tongue across his chapped lips. “For you, man. Don’t want anyone thinking they can just, like, match you up or summat. With someone you don’t wanna be with.”

Liam nods, their noses brushing. “Someone awful.”

“Someone who doesn’t even really get you, mate,” Zayn stutters.

“Or like the things I like, yeah?”

“Exactly, man, like,” Zayn sighs and their lips are close enough that his breath tickles Liam’s upper lip. “I hate when people fake it, bro. I mean, um, they pretend to understand you but they don’t. It’s fucked up. Massively, ‘cause you’re such a good person.”

“You too,” Liam chuckles, tilting his head, watching Zayn’s mouth, the twitch of his nose.

“It’s stupid,” Zayn groans, his tongue licking out again, accidentally slashing over Liam’s bottom lip this time. “I just – I want someone good f’you, babe. Not just, like, on the surface, y’know?”

“Someone who knows me?” Liam offers, laughing softly, carefully skimming his mouth over Zayn’s.

(the burn of Zayn’s stubble along Liam’s, the echo of _‘oh, when you’re low I’ll be there by your side baby’_ around them, their eyes never really meeting because they’re too fascinated by everything else)

“Yeah, like – “

“Like you?” Liam asks, teasing, almost faltering at the sharp breath Zayn inhales but he’s never been brilliant at thinking before he acts.

He kisses Zayn with unsteady lips. It’s warm and slow. It bargains away from forceful, from too deliberate. Like being seventeen, mucking about, kissing your mate. Accidentally. Except, there’s a dozen eyes watching this time and Liam doesn’t want to take this kiss back –

(Or any of them, really. It scares him into this shitty weak feeling but he doesn’t pull away.)

( _not yet_.)

He’s holding Zayn’s waist, Zayn stepping on the edge of his toes, the music almost completely faded when they pull apart. Their lips are a little raw, swollen, plump with words they don’t speak yet. His head is foggy and there’s apprehension under Zayn’s eyelashes.

An honest mistake.

“Should we have, like,” Zayn whispers when their foreheads press together.

His breathing is still rough, Liam’s matching in deepness.

Liam swallows, looking down. “I dunno,” he answers immediately.

“Because, Liam, I don’t want to, well,” Zayn huffs, scratching nervously at Liam’s scalp. “We just – _fuck_. It’s a bit wrong, innit?”

Liam can’t make sense of Zayn’s words or the steady decline of his heart into his stomach. He gives Zayn’s hips an affectionate squeeze, tries to put on a smile. A reminder that he knows – _none of this is real_.

It’s just a show for everyone until they can flee back to London.

(Until they can just be bandmates, just friends, two idiots who never really see each other unless they’re on tour.)

“It’s almost over,” he says, hesitantly.

“But, Liam – “

Zayn’s throat chokes off his words. He pulls back enough that Liam can see the way his lips keep trembling away from a natural frown. Heavy eyelashes are hiding his eyes. His arms drop away and Liam shuffles back, cupping the nape of his neck, looking sheepish.

“Bloody good show, right?” Liam laughs, the noise tampering off when Zayn’s shoulders drop.

Zayn nods slowly for him. He half-turns, hands shoved into his trouser pockets, his jaw tense.

“C’mon,” Liam encourages, nuzzling up, knocking their shoulders. “Time for cake and champagne,” he offers, ignoring Zayn’s stiffness at his touch. He palms along Zayn’s spine until he weakens, just enough, and follows Liam all the way back to their table.

(Halfway between the table and the toasts, Liam curls a hand over Zayn’s belly, brushes a soft kiss to the corner of Zayn’s mouth, a whispered _‘I’m sorry’_ that he’s not sure he should even say. But Zayn, nonsensically, grins. He nudges into Liam’s touch and rolls his eyes like the frown and the slouched shoulders were just another part of the act.)

(He’s confused and thinking too much – fucking Louis and Niall and Harry and their head games – until Zayn curls their fingers together, under the table, eyes on the happy couple rather than Liam.)

(Scratching out a secret language over Liam’s knuckles that Liam still, foolishly, loves a bit too much.)

 

///

 

It’s half-ten, the night outside a heavy blanket of rich dark sky and wintry chill around them. Liam’s reluctant smile is wholly because of the way his mum is squeezing around Zayn, like it’ll be years before she sees him again. It’s because of the scrunched grin on Zayn’s face, his chin hooked over her shoulder, his hands rubbing comfortably over her back.

“Oh, now you must come down for a day or two in a few weeks,” Karen insists, pulling back, patting Zayn’s cheeks. “For Christmas. The holidays and family are important.”

“Mum,” Liam whines, a pitying smile on his lips when Zayn raises his eyebrows. He shoves his cold hands into the pockets of his coat, shaking his head. “Don’t trouble him, alright?”

“Oh shut it, you,” Karen fusses, scowling at Liam. “I mustn’t keep missing time with him. Especially now that he’s – “

“Oh darling,” Geoff mumbles, sympathetically, an apologizing smile aimed at Liam. “Leave the boys be.”

Karen frowns and Zayn, instantly, leans in for another hug, a placating one that Karen scurries into.

“Maybe a day, okay? Just after? Me family usually comes up to London to stay at mine,” Zayn promises.

“Oh, lovely,” Karen beams, still squeezing at him. “Just for a few hours. For some turkey and pudding.”

Liam makes a face and Zayn, the right bastard, cackles with wintry breath because they both know Liam hates Christmas pudding.

(But the cold knocks away for the absolutely _mental_ warmth spreading through him because, secretly, he thinks Zayn means it. He’d stuff Liam into a car, kip all the way to Wolverhampton, just to make Liam’s mum happy. Just to spend an afternoon curled on their old couch, laughing at Liam’s baby photos, pinching Liam’s pink-smeared cheeks.)

(And, maybe, to kip with his head in Liam’s lap while his family watches _It’s a Wonderful Life_ – because it’s _tradition_ , he knows – with Brit at his feet, Liam’s fingers twirling in Zayn’s thick hair.)

“I’ll try,” Zayn whispers, massaging her back.

“Oi, a coupley Christmas, yeah?” Nicola teases, still dizzily drunk but with a gentle smile.

Ruth nods, looking fondly at Zayn and Karen, sighing.

“Keep ‘im, you brat,” she warns, pinching Liam’s hip before stumbling to their car. “Don’t muck this one up!”

Liam drags a foot over the pavement, sighing. He lets Andy thump him into a hug, ruffles Maz’s hair, waves off a dozen family members as Paddy pulls up the SUV. He doesn’t know why – a last little impression or because, well, _he can_ – he splays a hand over the small of Zayn’s back, helping him into the backseat.

“Oh, they’re so lovely.”

“Good boy, Leeymo! A right gentleman.”

“Fucking lovebirds,” Andy mumbles, grinning and Liam fumbles into the car with tense shoulders, a bashful smile, flipping Andy off as he slams the door.

“If I’m allowed to say,” Paddy murmurs, clicking on the heater to stop Zayn’s shivering, keeping the radio on low as he pulls off the curb, “a right good performance, lads. Had ‘em all fooled, yeah?”

Liam flinches out a smile. He’s not – he doesn’t think he’s put off by it. The words. The way Paddy gives him a questioning look in the rearview because they’d done a good job, right?

No one really thought they were anything but two happy lads in love, so –

He slouches in his seat, staring blankly out the tinted window as the street lamps pass. He keeps his hands in his lap (because, hopelessly, they still itch to hold Zayn’s hand – which is _weird_ ) and doesn’t even bother singing along to Bruno Mars like he usually does.

And he almost wonders if Zayn is as – _disappointed_?

Zayn leans his head into the front seat, grinning, eyes crinkled. “Pretty sick, right? I personally felt we were quite wicked.”

It sounds amusing, a little too eager that Liam smiles, naturally. He shakes his head because Zayn is –

He doesn’t know anymore so he keeps staring out the window. He keeps reminding himself, in London, things will feel normal again.

(and he won’t be disappointed, he swears.)

 

///

 

Somewhere between the village and London, Zayn curls in the seat next to Liam with heavy eyes and the lines of his smile soft. He falls asleep with his head in Liam’s lap, a hand on Liam’s knee and Liam –

There’s something cold in his veins. It’s arctic. He keeps thinking – _they shouldn’t’ve_. He shouldn’t’ve. It’s this sick feeling in his core, crawling around his heart. A bitter toxic.

He blinks down at Zayn, watches the spidery-long eyelashes smudge shadows down his cheeks. The slow rise of his shoulder as he breathes. Liam can’t stop watching.

They’re not meant to have had this much fun (well, maybe, but still). He’s not meant to have enjoyed Zayn like this – like something greater, bigger than a best mate.

He drags anxious fingers through Zayn’s hair. They catch in the tangles and he smiles at the way Zayn, sleepily, presses into the feeling. The warm pressure of Zayn’s cheek to his thigh, the city lights coming into focus around them – like fluorescent stars, neon constellations. Something soft and catchy on the radio, a tender little _‘cause I love the way you say good morning’_ in the background.

Liam doesn’t want it to stop.

He wants the rollercoaster to drop down that last dip again. He wants those thirty seconds before you pull the chord on your parachute – _terminal velocity_ , he thinks. When you feel like you could die. The adrenaline. The fear and the thrill.

It coaxes a tiny smile out of his mouth, his breathing startled at the thought.

“It’s a bit fair to say it was a good time?” Paddy offers from the rearview, his brow elevated.

Liam tips his head down to grin. His fingers scratch at Zayn’s scalp.

“He looks,” Paddy clears his throat with a blank expression, “he sort of enjoyed it too?”

The flush over his skin is instant.

(He absolutely hates Paddy too, he really does.)

His teeth bite nervously on his lip as he watches the city spin through the tint, street lamps like a horde of fireflies as they drive.

“Yeah,” he finally breathes, still smiling.

(Honestly, he’s fairly good at denying things – his indifference with Danielle. His worries about where the lads will be in ten years. His own happiness.)

(And another – his unnerving want to keep this uncategorized feeling with Zayn going.)

 

///

 

Zayn is yawning, stretching just outside of the gate to his house. He looks soft, young, reluctant, scratching at his stomach through the thin cotton of his button-up. There’s still a heaviness under his eyes, a crooked grin matching the jagged line of street lamps shining down on him.

The cold breaks around them, an assaulting breeze that turns Zayn’s skin rose. Liam immediately steps in the way, shielding Zayn, rocking on his heels when Zayn blinks up.

“Do you wanna, like,” Zayn shrugs, careless and tired, “you could come up? Maybe a cup of tea? Just chill for a bit before you head into the city?”

He’s gnawing at his lip like he does when he’s uncertain. When he’s apprehensive or just being shy. His hands are shoved into his pockets, the lights casting flakes of yellow over his skin.

Liam thinks it’s an awful idea except –

He doesn’t want to go home.

(it’s that whole five seconds where your heart stops just before your feet touch the ground again)

Liam fakes a yawn, a casual shrug meant to hide the natural curl of his lips into a smile. He looks over his shoulder, blinks at Paddy still in the driver’s seat, the car still running.

Paddy grins automatically, nodding. “Be back in the morning with fresh clothes f’r ya Payne.”

He flashes Paddy an obviously grateful smile that Paddy laughs at, pulling off.

In the dark and the wintry breath of a wind, something loose sets into Liam’s lungs. He spins on his heels, cocking his head to look at Zayn and that swell inside of him reaches high tide at the curious grin on Zayn’s lips, the calm roll of his shoulders like he wants to laugh.

Like, maybe, all of this is a joke, really.

Two dumb lads, caught in a moment, Zayn taking the piss out of Liam because they’re back in London. They don’t have to pretend anymore.

“Tea?” Zayn offers, his mouth dragging into a crooked little smirk.

Liam exhales roughly, shaking his head. He doesn’t answer, not with words. He reaches around to tug Zayn’s hand free of a pocket, their fingers vining instantly (because this feels normal now, far from weird) before he’s tugging Zayn up the gravel drive.

No one is around watching them but they refuse to loosen this slack connection between their hands.

 

///

 

They’re kissing, scratchy and restless, in the foyer before Zayn can cut any of the lights on. The large windows upstairs spill fuzzy hexagons of oxford blue down into the room but Liam ignores the glow. He fists a hand into Zayn’s shirt, crowding him into a wall, his spare hand pinning Zayn’s wrist to the surface.

There’s a hitched laugh in Zayn’s throat that Liam presses his mouth over, licking at the tendons, following the heat of Zayn’s scandalized moan when they carefully grind against each other.

He’s purposely not thinking.

Liam is somewhere between a _no_ and a breathy _yes_ while Zayn gasps in his ear. Fumbling fingers work at his shirt, his jacket crumpled at the door. He toes off his shoes and Zayn whines pitifully when Liam removes his mouth to look down at where their hips meet.

It’s the sort of thing he’s never really thought of (not with Zayn but with a boy, a university lad with paint under his fingernails and dense textbooks and – _oh fuck_ ) while having a good wank. The way his cock sits crooked and stiff, stretching his trousers, the outline of Zayn’s dick resting on his thigh. He hadn’t considered how red Zayn’s lips are when he bites them or the way the veins in his neck stand out when he tips his head back. The shine of the moon over his long eyelashes, his fingers still fussing at buttons.

“Alright?” Zayn asks, panting roughly.

Liam cards a hand through Zayn’s fucked hair, squeezes his other at a narrow hip. Somehow, Zayn’s loosened a few of his own buttons, the stain of red lips and the arch of wings standing out over his soft skin.

“Yeah,” he exhales because he can’t process anything.

(He _doesn’t want to_ process anything or doubt it or – he stops thinking again.)

“Because, we can, like,” Zayn shrugs and Liam smirks just enough.

He drags his fingers through Zayn’s hair, looping it gently, a soft tug that thumps Zayn into the wall. It angles his chin, bares his throat, and Liam just wants to kiss him.

It’s this slow, crucial pressure when he kisses Zayn this time. A bit affectionate, if he really thinks about it.

(He doesn’t. He _can’t_.)

He brushes his mouth over Zayn’s, keeping him pressed to the wall, letting Zayn pick at the buttons until he’s too anxious. Liam grins against Zayn’s lips, shrugs out of his shirt, tugs the hem from Zayn’s trousers. His lips skim over Zayn’s for a moment, hissing at the instant pressure of Zayn’s teeth along his bottom lip. His fingers dig into a bare hipbone and Zayn rolls his cock to Liam’s thigh like in that insanely goofy video he posted a few years back –

(Liam smiles at that. Zayn said it was for _Liam_ , teasingly, to show off how bloody good he’s gotten at dancing. Liam watched it on a loop twenty times, smiling into his hand, before closing his laptop.)

Their kisses get a little desperate, Liam curling his tongue into Zayn’s mouth, their noses brushing to change the angle. He spreads open Zayn’s shirt, dotting kisses down his throat. Zayn hums appreciatively, wrecking Liam’s hair with one hand.

“Fuck,” he gasps, knocking their hips.

Zayn giggles above him, hitching a leg up, grinding back.

“You’re just – I mean,” Liam mumbles, his voice husky, his throat dry. “Fuck, man.”

“Not here, maybe?” Zayn suggests, looking down through his lashes.

Liam grins up, his tongue flicking over Zayn’s throat, sliding down to the scribbled ink around his collarbones.

“Yeah?”

Zayn nods quickly, cupping Liam’s face, dragging him up.

These kisses – with swollen lips, strained moans, Liam cataloguing the flavor on Zayn’s tongue – are a bit lazy. They’re careful with eyes closed and hands skimming over the surface of skin. Liam fits his fingers in the hollows between Zayn’s ribs, shuddering when Zayn rubs gently over the soft around Liam’s stomach –

He’s a bit self-conscious, honestly. About his body. About some of the tone he’s lost, the muscles a little hidden, his diet healthier but still.

But Zayn –

Bloody fuck.

Zayn touches him like he _loves_ this part the most – the little imperfections. Lips tugging away to brush over Liam’s freckles, the caramel fleck of a birthmark. Kissing the tip of Liam’s round nose with a small laugh but filthily rocking his hips against Liam’s so he can feel the firm strain of Zayn’s cock.

Just a reminder how fucking turned on Zayn is by Liam, like this.

Liam growls softly, burying his face in the crook of Zayn’s neck. He palms at his hips, grins at the needy keens Zayn keeps releasing. The breathy _‘fuck, fuck, you need to – c’mon babe, shit’_ he sighs with his hand in Liam’s hair again.

(He thinks, shamefully, he knows that voice. He knows the way Zayn sounds when he’s having a sloppy wank on the tour bus, in the dark, between shows. When Zayn thinks he’s being quiet but the tight curl of his fingers around his cock, the gentle wounded noise of his moans muffled by a pillow, the constant shuffling in his bunk. It’s nothing they don’t all do – every once in awhile. But Liam _knows_ when Zayn’s doing it – trying to be stealthy, trying to hold back. Having a properly slow, aching wank that lasts longer than the usually three minute spurts the others have.)

(Because, even while getting off, Zayn is a perfectionist.)

(A fucking work of art, a slow bleed of paint along a canvas.)

Zayn’s fingers scratch like fluid down his back, along his spine. His lips, gently, suck a pretty bruise to Zayn’s shoulder, licking away the swelling, hands cradling his hips now.

“Somewhere else?” he offers, his breath lost in his throat.

“A bit more appropriate,” Zayn suggests, slouching down the wall until their lips meet.

They kiss playfully and Liam doesn’t think he wants to move, ever.

(It’s daunting, is what it is. Kissing a lad. Kissing your best mate. Grinding against a hard prick and sneaking fingers under a waistband and considering, constantly, the thought of turning Zayn around and gently opening him up with his fingers while retracing the fantail high on his spine.)

(Liam has never – he loses focus.)

“D’you still wanna – “

Liam cuts Zayn off with another kiss, short and encouraging. He doesn’t want to think, that’s all.

Instead, he threads their fingers together, grinning. He’s not feeling the buzz from the wine, not as much, and he thinks Zayn’s a bit sober too. But it’s a high, honestly. A fucking adrenaline riot and he follows Zayn’s momentum after Zayn kicks out of his shoes.

He snorts while Zayn trips up the stairs and reaches out to pinch Zayn’s bum, chasing him down a dark hall, colliding with a wall, this contagious warmth transferring back and forth between them with fickle kisses through Zayn’s house.

 

///

 

They don’t make it to Zayn’s bedroom.

( _not yet._ )

Scattered gradients of dark sky shine into the kitchen. The stainless steel fridge is cold along his palms, the ones he has splayed on either side of Zayn’s head. Their foreheads are knit together, dark eyes shining like neon paint right here. They’re rolling their hips like a soft shore wave and nothing else.

(Heavy breaths, twitching mouths, grinding out their muted words.)

Zayn is tugging at the snap of Liam’s trousers, a question leaking in his eyes.

Liam kisses him. He’s not very good with words, not like Zayn, and he figures he’s going to muck all of this up, right? He’s going to hesitate or think it through.

“Okay,” he brushes against Zayn’s mouth, forearms straining to maintain balance as Zayn splits the flies, tugs down Liam’s trousers.

He stumbles out of them, grumbling, nipping at Zayn’s neck when he tips into the fridge to laugh.

“Arsehole,” Liam grins, nosing at Zayn’s throat.

“Wanker,” Zayn counters, his fingertips warm along Liam’s hips.

They sway in the madness, kisses halted by short bursts of laughter, fumbling teeth. He yanks at Zayn’s skintight trousers, snapping them open, struggling with the material when it’s around Zayn’s strong thighs.

“Wait, wait,” Zayn giggles, breathless kisses, his tongue licking something sweet over Liam’s upper lip.

Liam groans but they find a mild rhythm of coordination to help Zayn out of his slacks, kicking them away.

“Awful Caroline,” Liam whispers, surging up to swallow Zayn’s next few words with another off-center kiss.

“Those were sick kits, man,” Zayn argues, looking weak and needy when Liam tugs at his hair.

(it’s – _oh_ – something new, Liam thinks, curiously.)

“Like that?” Liam grins.

Zayn shakes his head but follows the pressure of Liam’s fingers when he pulls again. His teeth give him away, working over his lower lip, biting off a moan.

“You do,” Liam mutters, smiling over Zayn’s shoulder, mouthing at the cotton of his shirt. “Say it.”

“Nah,” Zayn hisses, gripping Liam’s hips, anchoring himself to Liam’s waist.

“Tell me what y’like,” Liam half-pleads because –

He’s never really been good at any of this. He doesn’t have an ego, doesn’t _deserve_ one, but he’s always fancied pleasing someone else. He’s not a show-off, he just – he’s shit at admitting he’s a bit apprehensive during a shag. Eager to please. Putting on an act like he’s in control but –

Liam shoves Zayn to the cold steel and glares at him. “C’mon, mate,” he says, his mouth quirking when Zayn looks up through his eyelashes. “Lemme know what you need.”

“Fuck,” Zayn gasps.

Cautious teeth seek out bits of flesh to mark – just under Zayn’s throat, below his jaw, over the stain of red lips along his sternum. A trail of crimson marks that fade off so quickly. Imprints.

He wants, briefly, Zayn to look like he’s all _Liam’s_.

“Shit, man, just lemme,” Zayn huffs, awkward hands snapping the elastic of Liam’s briefs, “lemme get – Christ, Liam, lemme get on my knees f’r you.”

Liam splutters a little. His lips pause at the center of Zayn’s chest (he likes the rapid pulse underneath, right along his mouth, matching the mad race of Liam’s own heart) and he sucks in a sharp breath when Zayn nudges him back.

They share a startled stare, nervous. Zayn keeps pinning a corner of his bottom lip with his teeth and Liam’s wiping sweaty hands over his briefs, adjusting his cock, his thumb brushing over the soaked spot where the precome leaks heaviest.

(It’s unconscious, his fingers curling around the base, fingers reaching down to stroke over his balls, thighs tensing when Zayn glares at his hand)

It’s a little after midnight, in the middle of a cold kitchen with a heavy blue moon outside and Liam anxiously yanks down the front of his briefs to let his cock spring out.

He licks at his lips. He’s not much of an exhibitionist, even if he’s gotten off a few times sending grainy nudes of himself to a girlfriend or two, but he stands there. He’s nearly arse-naked and willing. He lets his cock throb, curling towards his belly, smacking wetly under his navel.

“Want it?” he asks, careful, skittering a hand down his stomach, over the fuzzily thick trail of hair beneath his navel.

His fingers slip in the mess of precome, the curly patch of hair around the base. He follows Zayn’s eyes with a half-smirk, the tip of his tongue between his teeth. His thumb drags over the slit, shining in the bleary blue squares of light behind him. The foreskin is pulled tight around the head like it always is when he’s properly aroused.

When he’s ready to fuck or lick someone out or –

His breath catches in his chest when Zayn stumbles forward. Their mouths smack wetly, messily. Zayn’s fingers swat his away, curling experimentally around the shaft, pulling just enough that the foreskin slips under the crown.

“Yeah,” Zayn mumbles. “Want it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, Liam, fuck,” Zayn groans and Liam, out of blind instinct, scratches a hand over Zayn’s belly to find the outline of his dick.

He’s never – it’s new. It’s fucking _mad_ but he likes the weight of Zayn’s cock, still twisted in his briefs, along his palm. He likes the shape, the way it feels different from his own. It’s still hot, throbbing, but it’s a bit thinner around the middle, fatter around the head.

“Shit,” he breathes into another kiss.

His fingers come back dewy from the sweat, the constant leak of precome into Zayn’s briefs. It shakes a scratchy breath out of his chest and he barely has time to register Zayn’s crooked smile before he’s mouthing kisses along the soft hair on Liam’s chest, down his abdomen, sinking to his knees.

Liam balances himself against a table, hexagons of silver on the surface, his bum perched on the edge.

Zayn squeezes at his thighs, breathing roughly, the tip of Liam’s cock slicking the sharp line of his cheekbone.

It’s almost experimental – Zayn’s first few flicks of tongue. Like he’s learning. Like he’s tasting. Drops of precome stick to the tip of his tongue and he skims over Liam’s cock with his lips. They come back shiny when Zayn looks up, a furrowed brow, a worried expression.

“Hey,” Liam pants, reaching down, cupping his jaw. “You don’t have’ta, like, we can – “

Zayn smirks, the fucking arsehole. He shakes his head, eases out of Liam’s grasp, shoulders set determinedly. “Nah,” he whispers, his thumb working the underside of Liam’s cock, fingers circling loosely. “I wanna, man. Like, I sort – don’t laugh but I kind of dreamt about this. Sucking you off. Gettin’ you all worked up.”

Liam’s breath stutters deep in his chest, his skin too hot.

Zayn shrugs, leaning in. “Sort of mad, innit? Never really thought about giving a bloke head, well. Maybe. Just – didn’t think I’d be sucking _you_ off, babe.”

His fingers tighten around the edge of the table and Liam mewls, the noise ragged, but Zayn doesn’t give him a chance to respond. His broad tongue drags up the underside of Liam’s cock, slips over the foreskin, laves into the slit.

Zayn is – _shit_. He’s incredible at sucking cock, really. He’s determined, gentle and teasing. He kisses over the flared, pinkish head. He keeps licking away the fat drops of precome, grinning because _he knows_. Zayn knows he’s doing that to Liam.

“So fucking wet, mate, like,” Zayn exhales, mouthing at the crown.

Liam jolts, leans back to angle his hips and ease his cock further into Zayn’s mouth.

There’s no teeth. There’s no awkward moment where Zayn pulls off, gasping. He swallows midway, suckles along the head when he draws back. His cheeks are flushed, hollowing when he slides back down. He’s a bit noisy, sloppy. There’s saliva smeared on his chin, fits of shiny precome along his lips.

Zayn has no real technique – something Liam sort of loves. It reminds Liam that he’s, maybe, a _first_ for Zayn. Like he’s undiscovered territory. He’s a start and, hopefully (not that he’s thinking about it), a finish too.

A last stop.

He whimpers, his head tipped back, staring at the stupid circles of lights hanging from the ceiling. Crystal drops of sweat slip down his chest, collecting under his stomach.

It’s not a kink or anything but Liam, unconsciously, reaches up, twists a nipple. He needs the sharp pain – the distraction. He doesn’t need to think about how slick Zayn’s mouth is, the width of his tongue, the warmth when he almost takes Liam into his throat.

Liam licks at his lips, his vision fuzzy when he looks down at Zayn.

He’s staring up at Liam, glassy dark eyes, pink lips stretched around Liam’s cock. He pulls off so loudly – it’s wet, fucking _filthy_ , obscene.

Liam nearly curls in on himself at that sight alone.

Zayn pulls him off in these fast strokes with a soft hand, mouthing at the tip. He pulls the foreskin all the way up

(and fuck Liam is so _sensitive_ to that, trembling, kicking a foot out)

until it pinches around the tip, smiling when he peels it back. The head is messy and glossy, precome nearly pearly from his arousal. He’s tipping into it, mouthing out _‘your mouth, please, fucking give me your mouth’_ but his voice won’t work and it encourages Zayn to tease him a little more.

He shamelessly runs the tip of his tongue over the mess, wetting Liam up. He leans up, swallows Liam halfway, hums around him.

“Fuck, Zayn, like,” Liam groans, absently reaching a hand up into Zayn’s hair, pulling.

The absolutely _dirty_ moan Zayn lets out, tugging back against Liam’s fingers to stay on his cock, shouldn’t be so encouraging. It should be –

He shouldn’t know what Zayn looks like while sucking someone off. He shouldn’t love the way Zayn is playfully letting Liam curls fingers into his hair, twisting, knotting. Pulling at Zayn’s scalp.

“You’re ruthless,” he pants.

Zayn pulls off, licking away Liam’s flavor from his lips. “And you’re still getting so wet, like. I’m fucking ruining me pants, mate.”

Liam watches Zayn’s spare hand, his wrist covered in ink, a pretty design, reach down to squeeze over the damp cotton of his briefs.

They looked ruined, soaked. Like Liam’s done that –

He can’t choke off his whine, his foot nudging up to knock Zayn’s hand away so he can have a proper look. Just to stare at the soft grey gone dark now, the shape of the head, the imprint of the shaft.

“Gonna make me come, man,” Liam heaves because Zayn’s taken to slow licks, suckling the head again.

Zayn hums his approval but Liam –

 _No_.

He wants more.

He needs so, so much more and he drags his hips back – hesitantly, a disappointed pout at the way Zayn chases his cock – until his dick smacks noisily against his stomach.

The shine of the moon on Zayn’s hunched shoulders, his curled spine with all of its pretty lines under the moon, his incredible cheekbones –

Liam’s always made a joke of it but Zayn is unfairly _beautiful_. Maddeningly so.

“Get up,” Liam begs, still using wasted oxygen just to settle the dizziness of it all, “C’mere, babe. Like, up here.”

Zayn smirks smugly, dragging his fingers over his mouth, smearing off the shine. His tongue curls around each finger and Liam growls, cupping the back of Zayn’s head, straining all of his muscles to drag Zayn to his feet.

Their mouths collide like its instinct. Like a bad, horrible habit. Bruising kisses that Liam careens into.

He can taste himself all along Zayn’s tongue, a sugary-bitter taste right over Zayn’s bottom lip. He keeps a fist in Zayn’s hair, scratching at his scalp, his auxiliary hand sneaking under the waistband of Zayn’s briefs.

Liam fingers at the dripping head of Zayn’s cock, swallowing Zayn’s impatient moan.

“Wait, wait,” Zayn pleads, lurching onto his tiptoes, whining. “Gonna make me – _Leeyum, wait_.”

He feels smug and a bit arrogant, shoving his grin over Zayn’s mouth, knocking their heads together when he nods. He swipes his thumb over the slit and tugs his hand out, nudging it between their chests and up to his parted lips.

Liam makes a show of it – mouthing at his thumb, dragging his pink tongue over it. He smiles around it, sucking gently, Zayn’s dark eyes never leaving his mouth.

The flavor is a little sour but just the hint of fruit – from the wine, Liam thinks – and, suddenly, Liam wants to spin them around. He wants to knock Zayn back on the table and duck down, flexing his spine and loosening his shoulders, to swallow Zayn until he chokes.

(He’s never, really, considered _that_ – deep-throating a lad. Sucking him until his throat was raw. But its Zayn and this is already so mental that he can’t help it.)

“I sort of want, like, um,” Zayn stammers, leaning up, drawing warm shapes over Liam’s mouth with his own. “Tell me if it’s a bit much, but – “

Liam’s lips quirk up instantly. This is new – this nervous side of Zayn. He knows people misplace Zayn’s body language for something other than what it really is – a shy, quiet boy. He’s not some bad boy with casual cigarettes tucked behind his ear and a vintage leather jacket and heavy boots.

He’s introspective. He’s thoughtful. Zayn is always a bit nervy around things he can’t talk his way out of and Liam loves it.

He loves this side of Zayn.

“Vas happenin’,” Liam teases, leaning into Zayn when he sputters out a laugh, Liam’s hands chasing the vibration through Zayn’s bare chest.

“Fucking twat,” Zayn gasps, nudging at Liam’s scruffy chin.

“You knob,” Liam whispers, nosing at Zayn’s collarbone. “What ‘s it, babe?”

Zayn swallows, drags sweaty palms up Liam’s spine. “Just thinkin’ ‘s all, man.”

“About?”

Zayn pauses again, his stubble scratching at Liam’s cheek. “My bed, yeah? We don’t have to, like – but it’d be sort of sick, alright? If we – “

“If we,” Liam repeats, trying to sound casual.

(He’s anything but. His breathing is this stuttered little tornado, his hands shaking along Zayn’s waist, tracing the blocky heart tattoo and skimming on Zayn’s trail of hair to the waistband of his pants.)

“Like, um, I dunno, Leeyum,” Zayn moans but he ruts his hips against Liam’s, shifts up into Liam’s arms. “I wanna, like. My bed, okay? We could shag, alright?”

Liam clips off a long breath, turns it into a quiet sigh along Zayn’s temple. He sounds so unsure but – underneath all of it, Zayn sounds completely content. Like the thought has been wading in his mind and, now, it seems like a proper idea.

He sounds, almost, like he trusts Liam so undeniably that Liam scrapes a dry kiss to his cheek and pats the small round of Zayn’s arse affectionately.

“Upstairs?” he inquires, pulling back enough to make sure.

Zayn gives him a determined, crooked smile. His eyes shine and their hearts beat so hard that Liam doesn’t even think he hears what Zayn says next.

“Bloody romantic boyfriend my arse,” Zayn mumbles but he’s grinning. He’s twining their fingers together and walking backwards in the dark, watching Liam’s cock bob stiffly between his thighs.

Liam cuts off a laugh, scurrying to catch up. He grips Zayn’s hip, leans down to toss Zayn over his shoulder and he ignores all of Zayn’s loud swearing, his protests to climb the steps two at a time.

(Because, absently, he imagines that’s exactly how they would do this, properly, the first time – with laughter and foul language and a cuddle over tea afterwards.)

 

///

 

“Do you want, like,” Liam stutters, lips hovering against Zayn’s, his skin liquid-hot, looking through his eyelashes at the way Zayn licks at pink lips.

The angle of the moon through the curtains backlights their naked skin a hazy blue. His fingers keep chasing the colors over Zayn’s neck and all of the shapes between his torso and the width of his shoulders leaves Liam a bit –

He’s dizzy.

Liam likes the way Zayn arches his spine slightly between touches, his arse brushing against Liam’s plump cock. His mouth is a raw red like under the skin of a sugary plum, from his own teeth biting at it, from Liam sucking the flavor of his precome from it. His elbow is angled, his hand cupping the nape of Liam’s neck from his awkward position –

They’re hovering over the edge of the bed, Zayn’s knees pressed to the mattress, Liam fit against his spine. The lube is staining the duvet, a strip of condoms tucked in the sea of sheets. The pillows are scattered even if they haven’t made any attempt to climb on the bed. It’s nothing but a _just in case_ and Liam’s weightless at the thought because –

Their pants are wrinkled around their ankles and Zayn looks pliant, soft, and Liam feels so shifty to touch more of Zayn.

Zayn’s mouth tilts into a crooked grin – he’s giving Liam permission and that, on its own, ruins Liam.

“D’you want, like, wan’ my fingers or,” Liam drags it out, his voice slurred from the need, “I can, like. Fuck, Zayn – I can lick you out first. Get you all wet, babe, with my mouth. Like, _Zayn_ – “

Zayn shudders, shuffling, rolling his hips until Liam’s cock grinds between his cheeks.

“Liam,” he groans, soft, eyes fluttering shut.

“I can eat you out, babe, like,” Liam continues, stammering, slick fingers pulling at Zayn’s waist, his mouth dragging a quiet _‘please’_ to the space between neck and shoulder.

Zayn hisses, tugging at Liam’s hair. The kiss, from here, doesn’t fit properly and Liam considers spinning Zayn around just to latch onto his mouth but –

His clean hand wedges between them, pushing on the small of Zayn’s back to make the arch of his hips a little more obscene.

“No, no,” Zayn mutters against Liam’s mouth, panting roughly. “Just your fingers. Like. ‘s all I need tonight, man.”

Liam bites off the soft noise in his throat.

(It’s not disappointment, he swears, but he thinks it partially is. Not that he’s ever done that for anyone but, under these slivers of moon and feeling drunk on something other than red wine, Liam considers it.

Like a head rush.

He thinks about spreading Zayn out, crawling to his knees, fitting his large hands over Zayn’s small bum, tracing the alphabet with his tongue over Zayn’s clenching hole. Smiling over the pink stretch of muscles, flicking in. Opening Zayn up. Coming up messy, a spit-slick smile like he does when he’s pleasing someone else in bed.)

He sucks in a sharp breath and feels Zayn pulling at his hair, needy sounds caught in his throat, grinding off on the thick base of Liam’s dick.

“Alright, alright,” Liam grins, confidence spiking like a drug in his blood. He swallows up Zayn’s next noise with a kiss, pulling his hips back, fitting his hand between them. “I’ll take care of you, babe. Just lemme – “

Zayn exhales gently, eyelashes sitting heavy on his cheeks as Liam carefully pushes at the rim with a slick finger. It doesn’t take much pressure to slide in and Zayn squirms immediately.

He sighs contently, raising up on his toes, lolling his head back to rest against Liam’s shoulder.

Liam smacks playful kisses to Zayn’s temple, to his stubble, nosing into his hair. He twists for a better angle, two knuckles deep, wiggling before drawing back.

“Good?”

Zayn gasps, biting at his lip. He’s got a semi slowly filling and Liam stretches his neck to watch, to eye Zayn’s hand rubbing down his belly like he’s tempted to touch himself but he won’t.

He wants to get hard off the way Liam twists a finger inside of him.

“Keep going,” Zayn whispers, lips staying parted after the words.

Liam hums, easing in deeper. He curls his finger, shifts to pull it out, glides back in with two fingers.

“Shit,” Zayn whimpers, pushing back onto the fingers. “You’re, like. Liam. Shit, you’re so good at this. Like, it feels – “

Liam shoves his smirk to the side of Zayn’s neck, mapping out the texture of Zayn’s skin. It’s like coffee oversaturated with milk and Liam squeezes his fingers to Zayn’s hip to create small bruises, another color to his complexion.

“Um, s’not, like,” Liam huffs, blushing, spreading his fingers inside of Zayn, “I’ve done this before. I mean, with others.”

Zayn tips into him, lips frowning just a little.

“Not with – I mean, like no boys, okay? Just you. You’re my first,” Liam exhales hard – and he most definitely doesn’t think _‘and you’re my last’_ – before he whispers, “The only lad I’ve been with like this, alright?”

Zayn nods, eyes flicking open, lips curving up around the corners. A noise catches breathily in his chest and his cock slaps up against his stomach when Liam grinds his fingers in with purpose.

“Doing so good, Zayn,” Liam says, brushing the words to the shell of Zayn’s ear. “Just taking my fingers so well.”

The soft laugh in Zayn’s chest fits into his throat and dies off when Liam curls his fingers, pushing at a small collection of nerves and –

“Oh fuck, Li,” Zayn moans, arching, toes curling on the carpet. “I’ve never, like – _what the fuck_.”

Liam grins over Zayn’s shoulder, kissing softly to contrast with the rough push of his fingers.

“You’ve fingered off before?” he asks, his voice a dark hiss.

Zayn stammers, flustered with pink cheeks and fingers still tugging at Liam’s hair. Liam examines all of the muscles contorting, the way everyone thinks Zayn is skinny and they’re so wrong.

He’s compact muscle, an illusion. He’s strong. He has all of these sharply shaped biceps and molded muscles along his chest, ripples down his stomach, girth in his thighs.

“A couple of times,” Zayn admits, smiling. “Haven’t gotten proper good at it but. Like when ‘m really turned on, fuck, it feels good to get one or two in there.”

“How about three?” Liam offers and it’s such a deception, the tease in his voice, before he pulls his fingers back and stretches Zayn with a third one.

He keeps the thrusts shallow, letting Zayn adjust, tempering Zayn’s rough grunts with taunting kisses up his jaw. It’s such a _tight_ fit – fuck. Liam can’t imagine how he’ll slide his cock inside and the thought makes him shove his clean hand between them, stroke off a few times, dribbling the precome along the soft hairs on the back of Zayn’s thigh.

“Liam,” Zayn whines but he eases back onto Liam’s fingers, wriggling to take them deep.

“Yeah?”

Zayn stutters, licking at his lips. “Need it, man.”

Liam complies without thinking. He turns his fingers, coils his ring finger up against Zayn’s prostate.

Zayn thumps his head on Liam’s shoulder, a breathy sort of keen leaving his throat. He fucks down onto Liam’s thick fingers, chewing on his lip.

Liam grinds his fingers in faster, smiling at the soft clutch of Zayn’s hole. He smears kisses to Zayn’s neck, over his tendons, sliding to his shoulder. He licks at the snake coiled around Zayn’s shoulder, groaning when Zayn squeezes around his fingers.

“Fuck.”

Zayn hums happily, his mouth slack. His eyes are glazed, bright, and he gives Liam a look like –

He can’t describe it, not even with those dozen or so words he learned from crossword puzzles and reading Zayn’s books in the dark and it’s sort of amazing. It’s sort of –

 _Inappropriate_ , he thinks, because Zayn is his best mate and this is not meant to be real but no one is watching them. Not like this.

(But Liam is watching Zayn, learning all of the ways he falls apart and what makes his cock stand up stiffly and how deep his voice gets, smoky and gruff, whenever Liam twists his fingers at the right angle.)

“Gonna need to,” Liam exhales against Zayn’s cheek, drawing his fingers back, hating the way Zayn winces, “M’gonna need to give you my cock, mate. Soon. Or I’m gonna just, like – I’ll have’ta whack off over your hole because I’m so fucking turned on, Zayn.”

Zayn sighs sweetly, nodding. A soft patch of skin between his eyebrows wrinkles, only the slightest hint of apprehension.

Liam kisses the stubble along his jaw, whispering, “Unless you don’t want – “

The discouraging, disapproving noise Zayn lets out stops Liam.

He smirks, sliding two fingers back in, stretching Zayn a little more. A precaution. A distraction, he muses, reaching out, tearing a condom from the strip, biting it open.

Zayn swallows, eyes sliding shut, a sweaty hand squeaking down his chest, lower. His fingers hover over his cock, teasing himself.

“Think you’re gonna come?” Liam asks, pulling his fingers free, rolling on the condom.

There’s a soft moan instead of words this time. Teeth bite carelessly at Zayn’s lip.

“So fucking stiff already, babe,” Liam teases in a dark voice, stretching around Zayn to finger the tip of his cock, smiling when Zayn shivers. “Look at you. All proper wet and ready. Gonna nut off before I even get inside you.”

“Liam.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he laughs, craning his neck to kiss at the _‘friday?’_ tattoo. “I can fuck you, babe. S’that what y’want?”

He feels Zayn go tense but no from hesitation. Precome leaks over Liam’s fingers and Zayn’s spine arches into Liam and it feels pretty incredible. The way Zayn is fighting against this, like he’s too proud to admit but too aroused to run away.

“C’mon,” Liam whispers. “It’s alright, like. I want it too. So fucking hard thinking about it ‘cause it’s, like, it’s _you_ , Zayn.”

His free hand curls around the middle of his dick, inching forward, rubbing the tip between Zayn’s cheeks. It almost catches on Zayn’s clenching hole and Liam groans at the way Zayn bows his head.

“Want it.”

Zayn nods, shaking.

“Yeah, me too,” Liam sighs, lining himself up, easing down and then in. “Me too, babe.”

The rough gasp Zayn gives when the head slides in startles Liam. The clench is incredible, really, but Zayn goes wire-tight, stumbling, palms flat on the sheets.

He’s too tight, Liam knows it. He squeezes Liam out, trembling, whimpering, “No, no. Do it again. C’mon, babe, I just – “

Liam shushes him, kissing at his shoulder, grabbing his cock loosely. His heart is hammering, this little star-shaped guilt in his chest, because he doesn’t like watching Zayn wince or squirm. He rubs the tip along Zayn’s hole, biting at the nape of Zayn’s neck until the rest of his body relaxes and Lim guides himself in.

Zayn only freezes a little, strangling the rush of air out of his throat, laughing softly.

“Never thought that,” Zayn pauses, hisses, pushes back onto Liam’s dick this time. “It’s different, Li. Like, I never thought – you’re so big, babe.”

Liam flushes all over, sweat crawling down his spine. He doesn’t move, letting the head rest inside of Zayn, stroking a sticky hand up Zayn’s hip.

“Shut up,” he grins, tracing broad stripes of his tongue over the bird high on Zayn’s spine. “Don’t say things like that.”

They waste away like this – Zayn’s shaking hands on the bed, Liam pressed to his spine, their breaths that in-between of calm and impatient.

“Keep going,” Zayn whispers after a few minutes, his head still lowered.

“I don’t have to – “

“Liam,” Zayn whimpers, tensing at the noise like he’s embarrassed.

Liam giggles and neatly finds a new patch of skin along Zayn’s shoulder blade to kiss as he eases his hips forward.

It’s an even tug of war. He’s careful once the head pops all the way in, working Zayn into some sense of calm with his mouth and his fingers barely touching Zayn’s skin, chasing after all of the goosebumps.

Zayn gasps wetly, shoulders hunching. He’s gone soft between his legs and Liam tries not to feel awful because –

“Stop?” Liam offers, hips stilling, his cock halfway buried into this searing heat that – _fuck_.

Zayn feels so _good_ around him, his hole flexing and stretching and hugging around Liam’s shaft.

“I can stop,” Liam whispers, concern spreading down his throat. “I don’t need to – ‘m good, babe.”

There’s an abrupt sigh before Zayn cranes his neck completely to flash Liam a smile.

“Quit being thick,” Zayn huffs, shifting his hips back, taking more of Liam.

Liam rolls his eyes, giving Zayn’s arse a playful smack. “I’m jus’ saying, babe.”

“Stop talking,” Zayn groans and he tenses again, exhaling hard. “C’mon now.”

“Relax, relax,” Liam mutters, caging Zayn in, fitting his hands over Zayn’s on the bed, fingers sliding between open spaces. “Doing so well. Such a good lad f’r me. Look at you – so tight around me. ‘s enough, man.”

Zayn breathes out something vague and quiet, nodding. His hair brushes in Liam’s face, soft and damp, his fingers curling around Liam’s.

“This might be a bit daft or inappropriate,” Zayn trembles, leaning his head up to nuzzle to Liam’s cheek, “but could y’like – fuck me, okay?”

Liam swallows the melody of _‘fuck’_ in his throat and nods, keeping a hand pressed to Zayn’s, stealing his other one away to grip at Zayn’s hip.

“Y’sure ‘cause I – “

“ _Leeyum_ ,” Zayn keens, grinning, rolling his eyes. “Quite being selfish.”

“Selfless,” Liam corrects him with a furrowed brow.

Zayn laughs, pushing back, sheathing Liam all the way in with his hips pressed to Zayn’s bum. “No, you idiot,” he scoffs, closing his eyes. “You’re being _selfish_ with y’dick, babe. Jus’ fuck me, alright?”

Liam drags his lips over Zayn’s shoulder, biting at it, mumbling a quick _‘you’re an actual asshole, y’know’_ that Zayn laughs breathily at before Liam drags his hips back, slamming forward.

It rattles Zayn a little but he doesn’t squirm away from Liam this time. He stutters, moans, shakes for a quick breath as Liam carefully starts to thrust in him.

He keeps his motions shallow, letting Zayn loosen around him. It only takes minutes – lazy kisses on Zayn’s jaw and their breaths synchronized and their bodies unable to find an equal rhythm that makes it –

It’s even better like that. They’re out of synch, a bit awkward, and that’s always been them.

“Oh fuck,” Zayn exhales, squeezing around Liam.

Liam leans back, straightens his spine to find a good angle, fucking up into Zayn. He feels Zayn’s knees pressing into the mattress, legs sliding apart so Liam can slide deeper.

“So good,” he moans, freeing his other hand to pull at Zayn’s hips.

Zayn garbles a noise, nodding. “It’s like – I’m so _full_ , Liam. You’re huge, man. I feel full like – ‘s all over, babe. Fuck.”

Liam doesn’t smile – not intentionally – but he starts to properly fuck Zayn. It’s like a Ferris wheel and they’re so high before stopping, admiring the view, turning again.

His hand slips on Zayn’s waist, crawls over his thigh, and it’s then Liam notices Zayn’s dick fattening up again. It swells so quickly, slapping up against Zayn’s belly every time Liam snaps his hips. A wet drop of precome splatters on his skin and Liam smears it over Zayn’s clenched stomach muscles.

“Oh fuck,” Zayn moans, rolling his shoulders. “Oh shit.”

Liam grins, cradles an arm around Zayn’s chest to pull him up. He waits until Zayn’s spine is pressed to Liam’s chest before looking down. That pride swells white hot through his chest at Zayn’s cock blurting thick drops of precome, leaving the head slick, dotting the sheets a darker color.

“It’s good?” he asks, letting Zayn fuck down onto his cock.

“Oh God.”

“Feels good, babe?” he wonders, his voice lower.

“Liam,” Zayn whines, tilting his head back, gnawing his lip.

“You’re so fucking hard, Zayn, like. Shit,” Liam hisses, letting Zayn rock back and forth with these stuttered motions that’s just not enough.

“Well spotted,” Zayn laughs and it turns into a shallow moan when Liam finally starts to fuck into him again.

“But, like. ‘m doing this t’you, right? Getting you all worked up,” Liam groans, ruthless with the roll of his hips, changing the angle to go deeper –

Zayn yelps, shivering when Liam nudges all over his prostate. “Wait, wait,” Zayn pleads, scrambling for something to grab, “you’re gonna. Oh Liam, _wait_. Gonna make me come. I can’t – “

His cock is twitching, spitting slick drops from the slit but Zayn keeps pushing back onto Liam’s dick.

“Yeah?” Liam asks, staring down at Zayn’s prick bouncing.

“Liam, hold on – “

“Gonna come for me?” Liam growls into Zayn’s shoulder, holding himself deep, pinching at Zayn’s hips to rut Zayn along his cock.

“Yes.”

Liam wets kisses along Zayn’s neck, nuzzles to his ear with Zayn’s hair in his eyes. “Then come f’r me, babe. Can get you hard again.”

Zayn groans, shaking his head. “Wait, wait – “

His words shiver out, die off into an abandoned wail and Liam peeks over Zayn’s shoulder to watch him fall apart. He sneaks a hand loosely around Zayn’s dick, stroking a few soft pulls before Zayn’s tightening around him and coming over the sheets. Thick, sticky ropes and Liam’s never seen something quite as _amazing_ as –

It’s not properly filthy like porn. It’s fascinating if he’s being honest. The way his fingers look around Zayn’s pulsing cock, the way he instinctively curls them around the head, catching spurts of come between them. The thick web between his fingers, the shudder Zayn gives off.

Zayn goes quiet and pliant and soft with Liam’s arm still curled around him. He’s lazy, sleepy, bright eyes. He shifts his head to mouth warm kisses to Liam’s lips.

Liam gives him a moment, pulling his wet hand from around Zayn’s sensitive dick. He streaks the come over Zayn’s ribs, grinning at the way Zayn makes a face. He thumbs at the playing card inked over Zayn’s ribs and drags his nose through Zayn’s hair.

He’s still stiff, throbbing inside of Zayn. He doesn’t shift too much, helping Zayn onto the bed, laying him down comfortably away from the wet stain on the sheets. He draws dull shapes with his mouth on Zayn’s spine, covers him, staying deep while he cages Zayn in.

“Good?”

Zayn hums his approval with a drowsy smile.

Liam stretches to reach for a pillow and his cock tips up to accidentally shove at that bundle of nerves and Zayn groans into his forearm.

“Sorry, s-sorry,” Liam mutters but he stares down at Zayn’s absolutely wide, trusting eyes and –

He refuses to think this time. He cautiously rolls his hips and Zayn mewls, nodding, chewing on his lip.

“More?” he offers, easing a pillow under Zayn’s forearms, rocking his hips back, snapping them forward.

Zayn whimpers, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Y’can take it?”

It’s a sigh of approval this time, Zayn pressing back to meet Liam halfway.

He settles over Zayn, curling an arm beneath him, brushing fingers over Zayn’s sticky-wet cock head. Zayn smiles, eyelashes fluttering. He heaves in a breath and nudges back against Liam again, teasing.

“Ready?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Zayn whispers, turning his face a little to hide all of the blush on his cheeks. “Y’can go ‘head, babe.”

Liam’s soft this time. He’s slow in ways he hasn’t been in ages. He glides his cock in and out, loving the squelch of Zayn’s hole, the smack of their skin in the awfully quiet room. He likes chasing the slits of moonlight on Zayn’s skin with his lips. The way Zayn asks in soft, soft voices for more.

So fucking _relaxed_ and dreamy like when Zayn’s had a spliff after months, too lazy to do anything but curl around Liam in his bunk.

Liam circles his hips, shoving Zayn into the mattress with his thrust, amused by the way he rebounds back onto Liam’s twitching dick. He snuffles into Zayn’s neck, into his hair, that satisfying aroma of sweat and boyish musk and sex.

He wants so much more.

“Oh Liam,” Zayn moans into his forearm. “Keep going, mate. Keep going.”

Liam’s barely noticed, under Zayn, how hard he’s gotten already between Liam’s fingers. He’s positively _aching_ and it hasn’t been that long since his last orgasm but his whimpers get louder like he’s ready to come again.

“Feels good?” he wonders, shoving down harder.

“So good,” Zayn replies in a slurred voice. “It’s mental, man. I’m just so – you’re getting so fucking hard in me.”

(Liam doesn’t grin smugly this time. He looks down at Zayn, wide-eyed with a slack mouth, and feels himself tipping slowly. But he watches Zayn like he’s never seen this before. Like they’ve just met at a McDonald’s and sort of fell in love over malt vinegar and salty chips.)

“Go on,” Liam mumbles into Zayn’s hair, stretching to suck on the twin silver hoops in his ear, “know you can nut off again. Know you want to.”

Zayn clenches around Liam mid-thrust, eyes rolling back, eyelashes flapping like a hummingbird.

“Gonna come all over yourself, love?”

He feels Zayn suck in a deep breath, the noise shuddering out in this almost falsetto moan that Liam’s never heard but –

He wants so fucking much more.

Zayn presses up onto his elbows, groans, arches his back just enough and Liam feels him throb between his fingers before he’s coming. He’s squeezes out a few thin spurts of wet, wet come along Liam’s fingers and over another stretch of the sheets.

Liam shoves his face into the middle of Zayn’s shoulder blades, his spare hand holding Zayn down into the mattress, giving a few weak thrusts before he’s shooting off into the condom. He throbs inside of Zayn, embarrassingly noisy when he comes.

(He’s never quite been _like that_ – he’s enthusiastic when he comes, maybe a little too smug with a string of _‘yeah, yeah, you’re making daddy come all over y’babe, fuck’_ that he usually regrets later but this is just a mess of noises. Just a fracture of words that hardly make any sense.)

(And that’s it – none of this make sense. He can’t think about it.)

He’s gentle, careful when he draws his hips back, wrapping a sticky hand around the middle of his cock as he pulls out. He listens to Zayn’s pained whimper, rolling off of him, staring at the ceiling.

Liam gently tugs off the condom, stumbling off the bed to drop it in the bin near the bedside table. He glances over his shoulder, Zayn’s smile smothered into the duvet, his limbs loose and he looks so –

There isn’t a word.

Liam hates how he thinks about that for too long.

The clips of bluish moonlight streak through heavy curtains (because Zayn has this weird need to blanket all of his rooms in darkness so he can sleep through the afternoon, waking to a dark city like he’s never missed a moment) and spread all over Zayn’s sweaty body. He curls a few fingers at Liam like _‘c’mere you dolt’_ and Liam, dopily with a goofy grin, fumbles all the way back to the bed.

They don’t talk. Their touches are a little more hesitant this time because –

The weight is heavy, they both know it. Their skin is flushed and the aroma in the room is from _them_ – from the shagging and it’s so disturbing how much he doesn’t care.

( _not yet._ )

Liam drags a few kisses over Zayn’s hairline, brushing strands behind his ear, tugging Zayn all the way up to the cushiony silver headboard. They kick the duvet off the mattress, curling around each other over the sheets. A wintry breath from outside chills some of the warmth from the room and Liam uses it as an excuse.

(Because he eases an arm around Zayn’s shoulders, nuzzles his lips to Zayn’s cheek, their legs twined together.)

He clears his throat and Zayn yawns softly, shoving his head to Liam’s chest.

It’s a bit awkward (because they know no one’s watching and they don’t have to touch or kiss or pretend) but they fit their bodies together on a corner of the too big bed like they’re back in at that cozy inn. Their fingers lace over Zayn’s hip and Liam waits until Zayn dozes off before he stops staring.

(He can’t stop his racing thoughts.)

(He can’t quiet his heavy pulse or the way he considers crawling out of the bed, sneaking into a guestroom, trying to forget the lie.)

Zayn sighs into his sleep, shifting closer. That feels normal. It feels like instinct. Like they’re back on a tour bus, just five lads and two best mates and –

(Liam stays awake for hours trying not to think. Honestly, he stays awake to watch Zayn and, the part where he’s sort of in love with Zayn’s warmth and the size of his heart when their fingers stay twisted, it feels nothing like pretending.)

He falls asleep before the sun comes up, pulling Zayn over him, keeping himself in this moment until it –

Liam smiles because, even if he hasn’t said it, he thinks it feels incredibly _real_.

 

///

 

Zayn’s house feels wintry but warm in the morning.

The sun dips in through all of the cracks in the heavy curtains, skims a warm touch over Liam’s spine, filtering the room with this soft white crescent. He yawns into a warm pillow, stretched out like a marooned starfish, the sheets tangled around his bare hips, a cold spot next to him.

He blinks at the dip in the mattress for a long moment – the spot where Zayn slept.

A horrible mistake, he thinks, briefly, refusing to move. It’s what it must’ve been – the weekend, last night, their rough breaths and feverish skin and –

They shouldn’t’ve shagged. They shouldn’t’ve – it’s his fault.

He sighs, squeezing his eyes shut until electric orange and green crawls across his eyelids before he exhales. He sniffs, their scent still heavy in the room – the sweat and come and musk.

They shouldn’t’ve –

Liam groans, rolls onto his back, slides his hand beneath the sheets to give his morning wood a pitying stroke. He squeezes the shaft before jerking his hand away. He can’t have a wank in _Zayn’s_ bed, not to the memory of Zayn’s lips and his narrow waist and the way he fell apart while Liam was buried in him.

He just needs –

Christ, Liam just needs his best mate and a cigarette and for this loud, loud reminder – _it was all pretend_ – to creep out of his blood before things turn awkward.

(He snorts to himself because _‘awkward’_ feels weeks ago, before the wedding and the kisses. Before he started to think that this could be a _something_. Something natural.)

Liam tugs away the sheets, stares determinedly at anything but the torn condom foil and the half-empty bottle of lube on the carpet. He steals a pair of clean pants from Zayn’s drawers to hop into, a comfy cotton Henley from a pile near the window, padding heavy feet out of Zayn’s room –

away from their disaster of a memory that he knows he won’t quite forget without a little fondness

– and down the hall to the stairs.

There’s soft music filling all of the empty rooms and Liam follows the noise all the way to the kitchen, grinning dopily. He finds Zayn shuffling around the stove, bopping like an idiot, rolling his hips off-beat – _like always_ , Liam thinks, fondly – with a plate of hot toast, a fry-up and two mugs of steaming breakfast tea. And _Zayn_ –

Liam pauses, his heart stuttering, his mouth dry.

Zayn is in a pair of ratty old boxers, thick mismatched socks shoved down messily to his ankles, soft hair pulled back into a sloppy bun, and a red jumper.

No – the red jumper from years ago. It’s still loose around his broad shoulders, the sleeves shoved up to his elbows, the threads of the hem starting to fray.

( _‘remarkable’_ is the word Liam remembers, from a Sunday crossword with Harry nestled next to him, Zayn in his lap, his tongue between his teeth as he tried to figure out ten across for minutes before Zayn penciled it in – _worthy of attention, striking_.)

His breath catches in his throat when Zayn spins around, ducking his head, looking sheepish when he grins at Liam.

“Three sugars, strong, yeah?” he offers, his voice still a little scratchy, sleep-soaked.

(the way Liam loves, shamefully, because it’s rough and so very _Zayn_ when he doesn’t want to crawl out of bed for rehearsals or studio time)

(when, they all know, it’s only Liam who can gentle Zayn awake without a shout or a grumbled line of swearing or a middle finger to accompany the _‘fuck off’_ he mutters before Zayn turns back over)

Liam stares at him blankly for a moment before nodding. “Y-yeah, right, you remember,” he stutters, stumbling into the kitchen. The floor is cold under his feet and it encourages him (it’s an excuse, but still) to jog over to Zayn.

Zayn shrugs, knocks their hips. “Can’t quite forget certain things.”

He sounds so casual, so absent of this nervous awkwardness glowing underneath Liam’s skin.

(because, maybe, Zayn thinks nothing of the weekend, of any of it, really)

But Zayn leans on his toes, smirking, pecks a quick kiss to Liam’s cheek before shaking red pepper flakes over the eggs. He slides Liam a fork, smirking, keeping his hip pressed to Liam’s while he thumbs through his phone with paint-splattered fingertips.

“Got a sick Green Lantern piece done this morning,” he smiles, shrugging one shoulder at the way Liam stares at him. “Like, I’ve not finished all of it but – “

“You got up? Early?” Liam chokes out. He takes a long sip of too hot tea to cover it, looking down.

Zayn smiles, wriggling his eyebrows. “Couldn’t quite sleep, man. Too much, I dunno, _energy_ I guess? Like after a show.”

Liam nods, staring down at their fingers over the counter, barely touching but inching closer.

(He wonders if maybe Zayn couldn’t sleep because of Liam, because of _this Liam_ who he’s shagged now, kissed like he meant it. Because he doesn’t quite look at Liam in _that way_ and it’s all a mistake.)

He thinks too much, he knows it.

Liam takes another gulp of tea, shyly opens his mouth when Zayn leans in to feed him a forkful of eggs. His teeth drag over the metal, watching Zayn’s happy eyes behind his lashes. He coughs at the heat, scrunching his face when Zayn laughs with crinkly eyes. He knocks their hips in retaliation, sneaking a few fingers over Zayn’s waist –

He catches himself before they can settle, snatching them away. Liam drops his eyes when Zayn gives him a curious look, flushing all over.

“Sorry,” he mumbles.

“Liam?” Zayn hums, reaching out, scratching a few fingers over the feather inked to the inside of Liam’s forearm.

(He only notices the touch because of the _‘hey good morning watch the sun come up’_ in the background and how _easy_ it feels, like this.)

“The weekend,” Liam chokes, shoving a slice of toast in his mouth, raising his brow when Zayn frowns. “Was good, right? Like, pretty cool, huh? Been awhile since we’ve like – um, since you and I have chilled. As friends, y’know?”

Zayn’s mouth twists a little. He’s not disappointed because, truthfully, he has no reason to be, right?

They’re just mates and it was all just an act but –

Zayn nods at him, shrugging carelessly. “Pretty wicked, I s’ppose. Like – “

“Yeah, yeah,” Liam says quickly, having at more tea. “Cheers, man. Good stuff.”

Zayn’s shoulders drop a little before he rolls his eyes.

“Anything for me best friend,” he says, clearing his throat, fingers still rubbing at the ink along Liam’s forearm. “S’nothing, really. Do it all over again if it meant you were good, babe.”

“M’good,” Liam confirms, smiling weakly.

(He’s not dizzy. He’s not dying to crawl out of his own skin or thinking about Harry and Louis and Niall and their stupid words. Dumb lads and they don’t really _know_ Zayn. Because Liam and Zayn have never been anything other than – )

“You’d do it again?” he asks, dumbly.

He wants to shove the words back in his mouth, let them dissolve over his tongue. He wants a cure for this toxic feeling in his stomach. Something to ease the rattle of his heart behind his chest when Zayn looks up, bright eyes, that familiar crooked grin that Liam remembers from being sixteen with a new friend.

( _Zayn is just a friend_.)

“Course,” Zayn laughs, smacking a soft punch to Liam’s ribs after the _‘no I remember you breathing when I woke up’_ humming from the surround sound. “It was fun. Just a good time, hey?”

Liam swallows, forcing down that guilt clawing at his throat.

“A good time,” he repeats, slowly, his brow knit together. “It was just a – “

Zayn snorts, thumbs along the _‘I figured it out…’_ on Liam’s skin.

“You make a pretty wicked boyfriend and I love being around your family,” he says, biting his lip, lifting his shoulders. “Wouldn’t mind that.”

Liam licks at his lips, tilting his head. “Being around me family?”

Zayn laughs. It echoes around the music and Liam’s cheeks burn at the way Zayn scrunches his nose, shaking his head.

“Having a properly wicked boyfriend, you knob,” Zayn sighs, still scratching at the ink and –

 _Oh_.

“You mean, like,” Liam stutters, feeling a bit startled, this huge ember glowing summer hot in his stomach. “Like us?”

Zayn snorts, rolling his eyes. He gives Liam a playful shrug, feeding him another mouthful of eggs. He takes a quiet sip of his own tea, leaning over the counter, the fabric of the jumper stretching out over his spine.

“We never really broke up like I reckon we were s’ppose to when we got back to London,” Zayn says, his voice light, playful.

Liam pouts, kicks at his ankle. “I was gonna but then you looked so bloody _fit_ in your suit and you smiled at me, so – “

He shrugs, not even bothering to finish because Zayn is laughing. His shoulders pull up, white teeth bare, his smile stretched so incredibly wide. He’s taking the piss out of Liam and Liam is falling for it like an idiot. Like some dumb boy in love with –

( _not yet._ )

(but maybe.)

“Didn’t want it to end, I s’ppose,” Zayn huffs, still laughing a little. “Not if y’like wanted to keep this going? ‘m good either way.”

Liam leans in, drags his stubble on Zayn’s cheek, brushes their noses together.

“So y’mean we could stop?”

Zayn’s mouth twists, his eyes squinty when he smiles at Liam.

“If you want, man,” he offers, his voice low, deceiving. “Not gonna like make you fall for me or summat. I mean, it’s a bit weird, innit?”

Liam breathes in a loud breath. Zayn’s fingers play along the inside of his wrist and he nudges back into the touch, a little less fearful. Without hesitation.

“You fell for me?” he coughs.

Zayn huffs, his smile brushed over Liam’s lips, his nose skimming his cheek.

“You first,” he dares.

Liam swallows, wrecks his bottom lip with his teeth. “I dunno, I guess I’ve always sort of fancied you a bit? Honestly, I’ve never thought about it.”

“Never?” Zayn doesn’t sound too wounded but, under those eyelashes, his eyes are a dull sadness, briefly.

“Not ‘til just before the weekend, y’know. But being around you all of the time, it just,” he gulps in another breath and Zayn almost pulls back so he cradles a hand behind Zayn’s head, gentles him back. “It’s just natural, alright? I didn’t have to _try_ this weekend. There wasn’t anything I didn’t mind doing.”

“Nothing?” Zayn hums. “Not last night?”

“Definitely not last night, babe,” Liam rushes out, his cheeks heating up immediately but –

Liam doesn’t regret it and Zayn smiles so massively that Liam is absolutely dizzy.

Dizzy and happy.

Zayn nudges up, kissing at Liam’s lips in quick, soft pecks that Liam chases after. He catches Zayn’s bottom lip with his teeth and swallows Zayn’s unrestrained moan when Liam finally kisses him back. He kisses Zayn like it’s the right thing to do.

(and it’s, without thinking, truthfully the kind of first real kiss Liam’s never had – _natural_.)

(it’s the kind of first kiss that’s unexpected and you never quite forget those.)

“It was, y’know, kind of nice,” Zayn whispers when Liam pulls back. “Being with you as, I guess – I just liked it.”

“You liked it?” Liam giggles, swooping in for another dry kiss.

Zayn’s nose wrinkles when he grins. “Yeah, yeah, you weirdo,” he clucks, letting Liam tuck a few stray strands of hair behind his ear. “Felt good, alright? Having everyone look at me like.”

There’s something so earnestly soft in Zayn’s eyes when his shoulders relax, when he scoots a bit closer, licking his lips.

“Like I’m the only thing that makes you happy,” he finishes, tipping his eyes down, his cheek warmer under Liam’s palm.

Liam knows, without warning or worry, the absolutely dopey grin he shoots Zayn won’t retreat. He nudges up, a quick kiss to the corner of Zayn’s mouth, fingers sliding to the nape of Zayn’s neck. Under the stretched collar, over the fantail.

It hits him then – Zayn is right. All of the looks his family gave them, their whispers, the way no one frowned at how they held hands or danced around the reception like that moment was for them.

And the way Liam kept smiling, not even bothering to pretend, because Zayn always makes Liam feel like that – dizzy and in love.

 _In love_.

“The cinema,” Liam says quickly, his heart so loud, his smile widening at the curious look Zayn shoots him. “The cinema and coffees. No, um, a proper show down in the West End. And dinner. I’ll cook.”

Zayn lifts an eyebrow at him, his lips quirking. “You can’t cook.”

“I’ll hire a personal chef!” Liam shouts, happily, laughing while palming at Zayn’s cheek. “And a cuddle too.”

A pink tongue sneaks over Zayn’s lips and Liam wants to follow it, kiss away the dumb stare he keeps giving him.

“Is that – “

“Our first date,” Liam sighs, all of the adrenaline soaking his cells, his stomach twisting up. “If you’ll, like – I want that. I want to take you on a date. A proper good date with me boyfriend.”

Zayn chuckles, ducking his head, giving Liam an abashed smile.

“Your boyfriend?”

Liam nods quickly, leaning in to kiss the tip of Zayn’s nose, angling his head to mouth at Zayn’s jaw.

“Me best mate and my boyfriend, yeah?” he whispers, finally curling an arm around Zayn’s hip to drag him in. “Well, I mean, it’s ‘cause that’s what we are.”

He feels Zayn’s smile along his cheek and it relaxes something beautiful into his blood. Zayn nods under his jaw, laughing. His fingers drag up Zayn’s waist and they stay quiet in the kitchen, sharing breaths and warm tea.

Zayn stretches for his phone, thumbing quickly at the screen, his tongue bitten between his teeth in concentration. He scrunches his brow, humming, twisting his phone around to show Liam and –

‘ **zaynmalik1D:** _a proper sick weekend thanks to **@Real_Liam_Payne** !! can’t think of anything better to do aha :) big love mate – Z xx’_

“Christmas in Wolverhampton with your parents,” Zayn mumbles, tugging at Liam’s shirt after dropping his phone on the counter, leading him blindly into the hall, walking backwards towards the stairs. “Dinner with your family and a walk in the snow and a hot bath at yours. ‘s what I want. A date.”

Liam’s laugh wobbles through the house as they trip up the steps. He sneaks fingers to Zayn’s waist, cradles his hips, shoves him gently into a wall for a long snog.

(between laughing kisses and wandering hands, Liam finds his own phone, snaps a picture of Zayn when he falls back on the bed, smiling up at Liam, tapping out a quick message.)

(He doesn’t check his Instagram account for hours after he posts the picture of Zayn, not after their first shag or blowing Zayn after a long kip, or when they eat Thai takeaway naked in Zayn’s kitchen, and he ignores all of the phone calls from management and Paul and the lads.)

‘ **fakeliampayne:** _cant get outta bed lazy bastard zaynie’_ he reads to himself, in the dark, Zayn’s head in his lap and the hazy picture of Zayn smiling up at him keeps him warm.

Because this feels incredible.

No, wait – it feels _real_.

It’s all Liam thinks about.

 

///

 

“ _So_ ,” the interviewer grins a whole six months later, leaning over her clipboard of questions, grinning mischievously as she drags her eyes over Liam, then Zayn. “How did all of this happen?”

She’s waving her hand at them, at the way Liam’s fingers are resting loosely around Zayn’s between their hips on the cozy couch stuffed with five lads laughing stupidly at something Niall’s said.

Liam doesn’t blush, even if he sees Zayn grinning shamelessly with pink cheeks from the corner of his eye.

(They’ve gotten used to _this_ – the way people stare. All of their questions. The way everyone wants to catch Liam having a smoke in Zayn’s garden or the paps hiding in the bushes outside of Liam’s gate, hoping to see a sleepy-eyed Zayn leaving Liam’s house in the morning.

All of the fuss when, mid-tour, he and Zayn purposely let a few fans spot them snogging outside of a stadium. The way he quietly escorted Zayn to _the Age of Ultron_ premiere back in London in nice suits a few weeks afterwards, fingers twined, smiling at flashing cameras and thinking –

They’re happy. It’s real. And maybe, absently, they’re ready for the world to see it.)

“Oi, it’s quite a tale,” Niall answers before Liam can, leaning into Zayn’s lap to grab the interviewer’s attention with bright blue eyes, a smug grin. “It sort of just happened to them but not to us.”

Harry snorts, leaning back with an arm around Liam’s shoulders. “They’ve always been sort of married.”

Zayn ducks his head, scrunching his nose, pinching Harry’s thigh through his skinnies.

“Not really,” Liam tries but Louis waves him off quickly.

“It started _ages_ ago,” Louis sighs, pushing his fringe out of his eyes, scooting forward and out of Niall’s lap. “It all started with a band meeting – “

“Hey, I thought we quit those,” Zayn grunts, pouting.

Niall nods happily. “Because Hazza kept walking around arse-naked – “

“Was not,” Harry argues, reaching over Liam to ruffle Niall’s hair. “It was ‘cause Lou threw a trainer at Zayn’s head – “

“Over _matching kits_. Like, how does that happen?” Zayn scowls, twisting his fingers tighter around Liam’s.

“It was _Liam_ ,” Louis groans, poking at Zayn’s ribs through his denim jacket –

(and underneath, one of Liam’s old Hulk t-shirts and Liam absolutely loved the way Zayn crawled into their hotel bed the night before in nothing but that shirt, grinning naughtily before he climbed onto Liam’s lap to ride him filthily until Liam was positively shaking)

– with a stubborn pout before adding, “have you quite finished?”

They all laugh, curling around each other like an obnoxiously dysfunctional band of brothers, and Liam ignores Louis’ rendition of how Liam’s _always been in love with Zayn_ because –

It’s true.

He sneaks a kiss to Zayn’s cheek between their banter and settles next to him, sighing contently. Zayn smiles at him, shamelessly, and they stare at each other until they forget everything else.

Except falling madly in love over a weekend of pretending. Or not. He’ll have to thank his mum again the next time they visit.

But all he thinks about is being sat with some lad on a comfy sofa, with paint under his nails from drawing all morning and Zayn’s heavy art books back home on Liam’s end table and the coffees they sip between messy snogs at midnight in Zayn’s kitchen.

The sort of bloke Liam’s always thought about dating.

About being _in love_ with.

(It’s all Liam thinks about, honestly.)

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I know this was a bit outrageous right? Please forgive me for the set up and plot -- I needed an excuse for Liam to take Zayn to a wedding as a fake boyfriend. Hopefully, this wasn't a complete waste of your time? _Hopefully_.
> 
> Thanks for taking the time to read, comment, kudos, drop me a message on [tumblr](http://jmcats.tumblr.com) and all of that good stuff. You all are so lovely!! xx


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